


love shot

by suraj



Series: kairos [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blood and Gore, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mafia AU, Minor Character Death, Minor Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Organized Crime, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-03-02 14:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18812491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suraj/pseuds/suraj
Summary: It’s at this point that the full weight of his actions sets in. He found astranger covered in bloodoutside his apartment and instead of calling the police like a normal person, he dragged this guy into his apartment and in the process, covered his – and he shouldn’t be thinking about this at a time like this – best scrubs in said stranger’s blood. Taeyong scrubs a hand over his chin; with the level of idiocy that he’s behaving with right now, he deserves to get murdered.ortaeyong makes one bad decision and it all sort of backfires very quickly.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> title is from exo’s love shot if that wasn’t obvious enough :’)  
> this is my first full length fanfic and unfortunately i don’t have a beta or extra eyes to read this over for me so please be patient with any mistakes and discrepancies!

Taeyong considers himself a reasonable man.

He’s not one to make bad decisions mostly because he doesn’t have the time, in between working and sleeping and eating, to make them. Taeyong considers himself a reasonable man with an adequate amount of brain cells and somehow, he finds himself with an unconscious, bleeding man on his couch.

It happens like this: Taeyong’s legs threaten to cave under him as he makes the final trudge from the elevator to his apartment after a particularly gruelling 24 hour rotation in the emergency room at the hospital. He pulls out his keys from his scrub pants, fiddling with his lock, eyes scanning the empty floor, mostly out of habit, when he spots him.

There’s a man sprawled against the wall, unmoving.

Taeyong scrubs a hand over his eyes frantically because it’s almost seven am and he’s barely slept in the past 24 hours and surely he’s dreaming but when he opens them again, the man is still very much there. He’s ninety percent sure this guy had too much to drink the night before and passed out in the hallway before he could reach his apartment and he’s not in the mood to get harassed by a drunk dude. Still, his urge to make sure this guy doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning right outside his apartment outweighs his fear of being called a few unsavoury names so Taeyong scans the rest of the hallway, dropping his backpack to the floor before he carefully makes his way towards the man, taking a deep breath.

“Hey, are you okay?” Taeyong keeps his voice low, crouching down low so he’s level with him.

He almost falls over.

The man is injured, _badly_. A deep gash runs across his hairline and dried blood smears his face. His lips are tinged blue. Taeyong shifts his gaze lower, towards the large wound on his torso where the man is feebly holding a cloth at the injury, crimson blood pooling underneath his hand and dripping towards the carpet. He’s still conscious but barely. The thick, metallic scent of blood surrounds him.

Taeyong’s stomach churns, “I,” he exhales, eyes scanning over the man’s hunched form, “I should call the police.”

He’s about to reach for his cellphone in his pocket when the man’s hand catches his wrist in a weak hold. His skin is cold and Taeyong is hyper aware of his blood, dark and red, staining Taeyong’s skin. His fingers shake around Taeyong’s wrist and he could easily pull out of his grip, yet he finds himself paralyzed.

“No police.”

Though his voice is sharp and commanding, the man inhales shakily, “don’t call the police.”

Taeyong opens his mouth to protest but the man’s eyes flutter shut and he falls forward, head going limp on Taeyong’s chest. Taeyong's hand shakes as he takes two fingers to the man’s neck, relieved to find his pulse still there.

There’s a moment of complete blankness in his brain before Taeyong remembers that yes, he is indeed a nurse and can probably take care of this guy’s injuries without having to call emergency services. The real question is _whether_ he should use said nursing skills to help this man, who is most likely gangster, and could probably kill Taeyong once he’s finished patching him up.

And so, five minutes later, he finds himself dragging the bloody body of a complete stranger at seven fucking am in the morning and he begins to wonder if he’s actually dreaming or if he is actually dragging this man by the collar of his leather jacket towards the sanctuary of his apartment.

“Taeyong, you are crazy and will probably get murdered today,” he mutters to himself under his breath, hand shaking as he pulls his keys out of his pocket, making a note to clean the smears of blood he’s leaving on his door knob.

The rational part of his mind wonders why he hasn’t called the police yet because that should’ve been the first thing he did but the sleep deprived part of it urges him to continue to lug the heavy body through his door. It takes him a few tries to get the guy onto his couch and Taeyong’s knees buckle under his full weight. He tries to mindful of the extensive injuries that mark the man’s skin but it’s hard when he is dead weight in Taeyong’s arms.

It’s at this point that the full weight of his actions sets in. He found a _stranger_ covered in _blood_ outside his apartment and instead of calling the police like a normal person, he dragged this guy into his apartment and in the process, covered his – and he shouldn’t be thinking about this at a time like this – best scrubs in said stranger’s blood. Taeyong scrubs a hand over his chin; with the level of idiocy that he’s behaving with right now, he deserves to get murdered.

Thankfully for him, the rational part of his brain kicks in and Taeyong crouches down against the man’s frame and gently pats the man down in search of any identification so he has the identity of his killer in the off chance he does get murdered while trying to help him. Taeyong finds a wallet in the pocket of his leather jacket and he flicks it open, snapping a quick picture of the drivers’ license inside.

_Jung Jaehyun. Born February 14, 1993._

Taeyong slips the wallet back into his pocket, frowning when something hard brushes against his fingers. Carefully, he lifts the hem of the leather jacket and his heart drops into his stomach.

There’s a _handgun_ tucked into the waistband of the man’s – _Jaehyun’s_ – jeans.

Taeyong almost falls back on his ass from where he’s crouched by Jaehyun’s unconscious body because _of course_ there’s a gun, why wouldn’t there be a literal fucking gun as the cherry on top of this already terrible situation. His mind whirs frantically for a moment before he gathers his bearings once more. Taeyong pinches the bridge of his nose; he needs to move the gun so he can patch Jaehyun up without accidentally shooting himself but that would mean he needs to _handle_ it, which also poses the very likely outcome of him accidentally shooting himself. Taeyong wonders, briefly, about what kind of bad karma he’s accumulated over his 25 pathetic years in the world and how many puppies must he have kicked in his past life to end up in this situation. There is a 50-50 chance of him accidentally shooting himself and Taeyong would rather not be the one to cause his own death so he leaves the gun where it is.

His body moves on his own as he grabs the first aid kit from inside his bathroom cabinet. The initial adrenaline from the situation has worn off and his body moves on autopilot; Taeyong uses the bare remnants of his strength to take off Jaehyun’s leather jacket, using a pair of scissors to cut through his blood soaked shirt. He tosses what’s left of his shirt into a black garbage bag followed by the drenched rag he uses to clean off all the blood as best as he can. Jaehyun’s skin is pale and littered with scars, some that are old and some that are newer.

He focuses on the freshest injuries first, using alcohol wipes to clean off the long gash on the left side of Jaehyun’s torso. It’s a superficial injury but it’s large and has already caused Jaehyun some blood loss. Taeyong stitches it up with practised motions and then covers it with a large pad of gauze. The cut on his hairline is the one that has caused most of the blood loss and is most likely the reason he passed out in the first place. The blood has already begun to clot so Taeyong uses one hand to hold Jaehyun’s dark hair back and the other to clean the cut a little aggressively before he stitches that, also. Taeyong wraps a long strip of gauze around Jaehyun’s head, securing it with medical tape.

The yawn that’s been trapped in his throat fights it’s way out as Taeyong throws all of the bloodied rags and wipes into the garbage bag and wipes down his table with medicinal alcohol. Taeyong’s eye catches the clock on his wall and he shakes his head in disbelief. It feels like he’s been trapped in the limbo of this ordeal for hours though it hasn’t even been two yet. The clock hand strikes at half past eight and complete and utter exhaustion hits him all at once. Jaehyun is still passed out on Taeyong’s couch and in the back of his mind, he knows that Jaehyun could wake up at any moment and that he has a literal gun tucked into his pants but his brain feels foggy with exhaustion and his feet ache and his eyes threaten to close so Taeyong collapses on the loveseat across from the couch and finds himself asleep within moments.

—

He wakes abruptly.

Taeyong's eyes immediately fall on the man on his couch. Jaehyun is awake, though if Taeyong’s life was not on the line right now, he wouldn’t have noticed. His eyes are lidded and he barely moves, only the slight rise and fall of his bare chest signals that he’s alive at all. Taeyong scrambles out of the chair and backs into his kitchen, fingertips quivering as he reaches into his kitchen drawer and pulls out the biggest knife he can find. His sleep ridden mind is slow to catch up to his actions and he’s sure if he stops to think about it, it might occur to him that Jaehyun’s gun could shoot this pathetic knife out of his hand in a second.

Taeyong doesn’t stop to think about it.

He slides from behind the counter towards the living room, hip still in contact with the kitchen counter that connects the living room to the kitchen.

“Are you going to hurt me?” His voice is raspy from disuse and his eyes flicker from Jaehyun to the clock.

It’s almost ten am.

There is a moment of complete silence.

Jaehyun smiles. It’s bare; his mouth is curled slightly and it is not kind though he is handsome just the same.

Taeyong repeats his question and miraculously, the knife in his hand doesn’t shake. His throat constricts and he finds himself, once again, unable to move as Jaehyun stands, movements slow yet unwavering. If his stitches pull or his body feels sore, the pain is not visible on his face. He does not speak.

Taeyong’s hand feels clammy against the wooden handle of the knife yet he holds it so tightly his knuckles have gone white. Jaehyun strides across the room towards Taeyong, calm and cool, as if he wasn’t lying in a pool of his own blood in the hallway a few hours ago. It seems like Taeyong had only blinked but suddenly Jaehyun is close enough that Taeyong can see the crude smile on his face clearly. In a split second, Jaehyun’s hand find the knife in Taeyong’s, twisting it between his own fingers with idle motions and Taeyong doesn’t even have time to exhale before the knife is pressed to his throat.

The metal blade is cool against Taeyong’s skin and his heart hammers wildly against his ribs, threatening to jump right out of his chest. Jaehyun’s forearm is like an iron bar against Taeyong’s collarbones and he finds himself trapped between Jaehyun’s looming figure and the kitchen counter, unable to breathe.

It occurs to him that he is _definitely_ getting murdered in his own apartment with his own fucking knife today after letting a complete stranger, who is probably a gangster, bleed all over his couch and he definitely can’t find it in himself to feel sorry for his stupid, brainless self. Still, he thinks about his poor, sweet parents, who always advised Taeyong not to move to Seoul and he thinks about Yuta and Ten – his closest, most demonic friends – who will definitely celebrate the fact that Taeyong had an interesting death and did not just have a stroke from overworking himself. He shuts his eyes.

“You saved my life,” Jaehyun’s voice is clear and soft, “I won’t hurt you.”

Taeyong’s eyes fly open to Jaehyun holding the knife, handle towards Taeyong. Thick strands of dark hair fall into his sharp, honey coloured eyes, watching Taeyong’s every move. Taeyong takes the knife with a trembling hand, letting his arm fall limp to his side as Jaehyun shuffles back towards the couch, picking up his gun from the coffee table and tucking it back into the waistband of his jeans. He must have taken it out when Taeyong was asleep, he realizes dizzily. Taeyong watches as Jaehyun puts his leather jacket back on with slow motions, not bothering to ask about why he’s suddenly lacking a shirt and within moments, he’s gone.

Taeyong only manages to come back to his senses when he hears the door click shut; he flies towards the door, triple checking the locks before he crumples against it, taking a huge gulp of air. For the first time in his life, one of Taeyong’s stupid decisions did not have major consequences, though his blood smothered couch begs to differ. Relief floods every vein in his body and he squeezes his eyes shut. If Taeyong has learned anything from arguably the worst day of his life, it’s that he can’t ever let a man like Jung Jaehyun through his door ever again.


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally i had planned on posting this part with the first part but i was still deciding how long i wanted chapters to be and when i wanted to update weekly so i know this is coming much earlier than i said but i just couldnt wait!

Taeyong can't believe he’s letting Jung Jaehyun through his door.

_Again._

It all happens so fast; one moment he’s debating heatedly with Yuta on the phone about whether he should get a grey or blue streak in his hair – _“You’re going to look like the wicked witch of the west with a grey streak, dumbass,”_ Yuta had said – and the next, he’s holding the door open for Jaehyun and another man to stumble through. He almost doesn’t recognize him; it’s been nearly two months since the incident, and Jaehyun’s dark hair is a shocking blond now.

“Yuta,” he mumbles, “I’ll call you back,” and if his voice is strange, Yuta doesn’t comment on it.

 _“Alright,”_ Yuta’s tone is still the same exasperated one it was earlier, muffled by the phone,  _“just don’t get the grey – ”_

Taeyong doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence as he ends the call.

His eyes immediately flicker over Jaehyun’s form; he looks fine and alarmingly uninjured, so he shifts his gaze to the man in Jaehyun’s arms. The man is tall, almost eight percent legs, though he’s probably taller if he stands straight. His face is worn and with every shift of his body he grimaces, eyes squeezing shut.

“He’s been shot,” Jaehyun says, mouth pressed into a tight frown. His chest rises and falls fast and his breaths are erratic, probably from supporting the weight of his taller friend.

Jaehyun’s eyes are steely when they meet Taeyong’s, almost as if he’s daring Taeyong to refuse helping his friend and he lowers the man onto the couch before Taeyong can protest. His gaze drifts back towards his friend and Taeyong doesn’t miss the way it softens instantly, one hand smoothing over his sweaty forehead.

“Hold on, Johnny,” he mutters, taking his friend’s hand for a moment, squeezing tightly.

And just like that, any indication that Jung Jaehyun has emotions, disappears and his facial expression morphs into a calm and cool one. Taeyong blinks, once, twice, before he realizes he doesn’t have a single moment to spare to unpack what’s going on in his apartment on what was supposed to be a lazy Sunday, shaking his head as he snaps into nurse mode, striding over to where Johnny is sprawled on his couch.

“Go get the first aid kit and some towels from the bathroom,” he mumbles, head jerking in the general direction of where his bathroom is, “grab the garbage bags from the kitchen, too.”

Jaehyun springs into action immediately and Taeyong takes the few moments he has alone with Johnny to assess his condition. Johnny is pale, paler than he should be and Taeyong immediately spots at least two bullet entry wounds, one on his right arm and the other on his left thigh. He’s already lost enough blood and when Taeyong lifts his head slightly, he can feel the growing bump at the base of his skull. Johnny groans at that, head lolling in Taeyong’s hands.

At this point Jaehyun is back, holding all the supplies Taeyong requested. Taeyong waves a hand towards his coffee table and luckily, Jaehyun gets it and begins to set everything out.

“Soak the towels,” Taeyong says and Jaehyun disappears into the kitchen, arms full of white towels.

Taeyong focuses his attention back on Johnny, “hey,” he keeps his voice low, “Johnny, right?”

Johnny doesn’t respond and Taeyong frowns.

“Johnny, keep your eyes open, okay?” He waits a moment and thankfully, Johnny opens his eyes.

“Can you follow my finger without moving your head?” Taeyong keeps his words spaced and calm, repeating them before he holds up his index finger a few inches away from Johnny’s face.

He slides it left and right a few times in front of Johnny, sighing deeply when Johnny struggles to follow his finger.

“Thank you, Johnny, you’re doing great so far,” he praises, mostly out of his habit of talking to his patients, letting his hand fall to his side and laying Johnny’s head back down again.

Taeyong snatches the scissors up from the coffee table, all too familiar with this process as he begins to cut away Johnny’s blood soaked shirt. Jaehyun comes back holding a wet towel and Taeyong takes it, wiping away as much blood as he can off of Johnny’s skin. His eyes flicker to the gold chain on Johnny’s neck and the symbol which is all too prominent across the city. Taeyong tries not to think about it right now.

“He’s concussed,” He tells Jaehyun, not bothering to look at him, “take his pants off, please.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jaehyun stand perfectly still for a moment before he moves, fingers fumbling against the button of Johnny’s jeans.

“How bad is it?”

Taeyong considers it, “it depends on how he acts when he’s fully awake. It’s hard to judge right now because most of his symptoms can be due to his blood loss.”

Jaehyun doesn’t reply, though he is one step ahead of Taeyong, using a towel to clean off Johnny’s wounded leg once his pants are off.

“Alright, Johnny, how are you doing so far?” Taeyong asks gently, lifting Johnny’s arm with care to see where the exit wound of the bullet is.

“M’fine,” Johnny’s voice is slurred but Taeyong is relieved to see he can still speak.

“Good,” Taeyong praises, “we’re almost done.” He says though they’re far from it.

Taeyong cleans both the entry and exit wounds with an alcohol wipe before threading a needle to stitch both up. His hand moves quickly and he snips the thread before securing a pad of gauze on each wound, wrapping around Johnny’s arm with a long piece of gauze. Thankfully, Johnny is too out of it to object to any pain he feels, though he winces several times as Taeyong stitches up his wounds. Taeyong is glad that he’s showing any response to body stimulus because it indicates his concussion is not as severe. He moves down Johnny’s body, situating himself near his leg, cleaning the bullet wound with a wipe, unable to stop the twitch of his hand when he realizes the bullet is still embedded into the muscle of Johnny’s thigh.

“What is it?” Jaehyun’s voice does not betray any emotion.

“The bullet is still inside him,” Taeyong leans back, using the back of his hand to wipe at his brow nervously, “I can get it out, assuming it’s still in one piece.”

“Get it out, then.”

For the first time since the sequel to the worst day of Taeyong’s life begun, he looks at Jaehyun. His eyes are hard and dark, peering down from where he’s standing to where Taeyong is crouched near Johnny with an unreadable emotion. His mouth is pulled into a tight line, arms crossed over his chest, fingertips stained with blood. Taeyong notices the bare beginnings of bruises on his cheek, just beginning to purple, and the red splatter of burst capillaries under his right eye indicating what is surely going to be a black eye. His hands are scraped and red. He looks terrifying, stance and facial expression striking a sharp bolt of fear through Taeyong’s chest and whatever objections Taeyong initially had towards his commanding attitude die in his throat. He doesn’t let any of that show on his face; Jaehyun is not the only one in control of his facial expressions.

“Ice your face,” Taeyong mutters instead, “you look like shit.”

Jaehyun looks stunned. It only lasts a split second and his face is back to looking like he might kill Taeyong at any moment. He doesn’t say anything, disappearing into the kitchen once more.

Taeyong takes the tweezers out of the first aid kit, wiping them down profusely with an alcohol wipe before using his spare hand to turn on the flashlight from his phone so he can get a better look.

“I’ll hold it,” Jaehyun doesn’t wait for a reply as he grabs Taeyong’s phone from his hand, the other holding an ice pack to his jaw.

Taeyong squints, angling himself so he can see the dark metal coating of the bullet. He sighs in relief; it’s not too far in that he might end up causing more damage to the wound but it’s not close enough to come out without a fight. Despite knowing the mechanics of bullet removal, it’s not really Taeyong’s favourite activity, so his lack of practice in this area makes him the most nervous.

“You’re looking well,” he says to Jaehyun, attempting to find a way to soothe his jittery nerves.

Jaehyun sniffs, “passing out in the hallway outside my apartment wasn’t my best moment.”

“You live here?”

Taeyong steadies his hand by placing his elbow on Johnny’s torso, motioning for Jaehyun to move the flashlight closer. He doesn’t know about whether to be afraid or not about the fact that Jaehyun lives a few doors down from him. What’s worse is that Taeyong has never seen Jaehyun before that day, or after. Not until today, at least.

“I used to,” Jaehyun says, “moved out soon after.”

Taeyong tries not to probe inside the wound too much in fear of causing more tear to the muscle, instead using the tip of the tweezers to try and feel for the bullet. When his tweezers brush against it he pauses, taking a deep breath before locking it in between the prongs of the tweezer. All he has to do is pull it out.

“I’ve never seen you around.”

“I was never around much.” Jaehyun replies.

Taeyong’s pretty sure his lower lip is going raw from how harshly he’s chewing it. He gives himself one more moment to gather himself before he pulls his hand away. The bullet comes out in one piece and without too much trouble, thankfully. Taeyong tosses it into the garbage bag before threading his needle again. He wipes down the bullet entry wound once more and then stitches it up in neat crosses.

He stands, exhaling all the stress he’s been holding in for the past hour. He can definitely add _Bullet Removal Expert_ to his resumè now, he thinks wryly.

“Just toss everything into the bag,” Taeyong shuffles towards the kitchen, filling a glass with water before returning to Johnny’s side.

Jaehyun moves around him like a ghost, picking up waste and cleaning off the coffee table quietly. Taeyong kneels next to the couch and helps Johnny lift his head and take a few sips of water. Johnny mumbles something unintelligible and Taeyong purses his lips, petting Johnny’s hair with as much comfort as he can muster at a time like this.

“He’s out of it right now due to blood loss but check for symptoms of a concussion in a few hours,” Taeyong stands, about as close as he can to Jaehyun without feeling like there might be a repeat of the knife incident, “vomiting, slurred speech, dilated pupils,” Jaehyun’s eyes observe him carefully, drinking in every word that leaves Taeyong’s mouth, “if any of these get really bad or last longer than a day or two, you need to take him to the hospital.”

Jaehyun nods.

“I owe you a debt,” Jaehyun’s voice is even and he shifts, taking a step towards Taeyong, “for saving his life,” there’s a pause, “and mine.”

Instinctively, Taeyong steps back.

He considers the words Jaehyun is saying, trying his best to wrap his mind around them. There’s no dancing around it; Taeyong knows what Jaehyun is and _Jaehyun_ knows that Taeyong knows what he is. Taeyong isn’t stupid, he knows what the symbol around Johnny’s neck means. He knows what the implications of him being tied to these people means. And a debt, no matter who it is owed by, is a dangerous thing, especially when they involve people like Jung Jaehyun.

Taeyong runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, “if you want to pay me back,” he says, gaze flickering away from Jaehyun to the carpet, “just don’t come back, please.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, mouth twitching into a cold half smile and he doesn’t reply. His eyes don’t move for a moment; Taeyong feels pinned underneath his iron gaze, unable to move as Jaehyun observes him. Studies him.

They don’t speak again as Taeyong helps Johnny sit up, trying his best not to hurt the taller man as he helps him put his jacket, crouching down to help him back into his jeans before zipping the jacket up since he no longer has a shirt on underneath. Then, he steps back and lets Jaehyun hoist his friend up, arm wrapped around his waist in a vice like grip.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know why he agreed to help Johnny. He supposes it’s because he doesn’t know these people, doesn’t know their crimes and their sins and that makes it easier for him to put aside his thoughts and help. Taeyong wants to laugh at the fact that these men have killed many people, innocent or not, yet his moral compass refuses to let someone die if he can save them. His chest feels tight and he exhales when both men disappear from his sight, door clicking softly behind them.

Taeyong wishes upon every star that he never has the unfortunate luck of encountering Jung Jaehyun again.


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said every monday but i feel like i will be able to push the first few chapters out much faster, so let’s just say the latest a chapter will be is a week!

“I don’t know, you guys,” Taeyong says uneasily, taking a sip of his coffee.

Ten rolls his eyes, “can you stop acting like a senior citizen for just one night?”

Taeyong turns to Yuta, eyes pleading for him to disagree with Ten, though Yuta only shrugs and turns his attention back to his plate, “don’t look at me, grandpa.” He says, biting into the croissant.

“But a club?” Taeyong sighs, “aren’t we like a little past the age of clubbing all night?”

“First of all,” Ten wrinkles his nose, “speak for yourself because some of us still have a functioning back and aren’t suffering from old bitch disease like you.”

He makes a show of dragging his eyes over Taeyong’s figure and grimacing, “and second, I know you have a stroke thinking about doing anything mildly fun but you could use a night out.”

“I didn’t come to brunch with you assholes just to get bullied like this.” Taeyong whines but Ten ignores him, snatching a tomato off of Yuta’s plate. Suddenly, he regrets telling Ten about his Friday off.

“C’mon,” Ten coaxes, “I never see you guys lately and Friday is the only day I have off because my dick of a boss isn’t coming in.”

That, Taeyong can’t argue with. Ten was recently hired as the personal assistant for the CEO of a new IT firm and though Taeyong and Yuta both see each other at the hospital when their shifts overlap, he reminds himself that they don’t see Ten as often anymore. Still, Taeyong isn’t convinced; he has rare days off from working and why would he want to spend them in a headache inducing social setting when he could cook a meal at home and watch a movie? He doesn’t voice his thoughts in favour of sparing himself the sting of one of Ten’s bratty remarks.

Ten, with catlike eyes that flicker over Taeyong’s unsure face, senses the air of skepticism and pipes up again, “it’s a new club and lots of sexy gangsters hang out there and maybe if you throw your dry, dusty line into the water, you might catch something.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Taeyong groans, scrubbing a hand over his chin.

The first thing Ten says replays in Taeyong’s mind; it isn’t news that most of the popular clubs in Seoul are owned by prominent crime families, though it doesn’t matter as long as the drinks and music are good. He doubts any sexy gangsters, as Ten so eloquently put it, would even be at the club. Rarely were any of the elite ever caught in their own clubs unless it was for business. Briefly, Taeyong’s mind wanders back to Jaehyun, sharp and cold and _dangerous_ , and he decides he’s had his fill of gangsters for the rest of his life. Taeyong doesn’t know anything about Jaehyun aside from his name and age, doesn’t know if he even is a gangster and if he is, how important he is to the crime network of Seoul. The only thing he knows is men with guns are dangerous and Jung Jaehyun is one of them.

It’s not a topic he can casually bring up to his friends, though. How his one decision to help a stranger in need landed him in the company of a dangerous man like Jung Jaehyun. He had wanted to call Yuta that day, nearly three months ago when he first encountered Jaehyun. In the last moment, he decided that it was best to keep it all to himself for fear of his own life and perhaps even Yuta’s.

“I agree with Chittaphon, you need to get laid,” Yuta chimes in, snapping Taeyong out of his grim thoughts and Ten smirks, fist bumping Yuta in satisfaction.

Taeyong knows the chances of him running into any gangster, let alone a specific one, are slim, so he glares in Yuta’s direction before finally giving in under the hopeful looks on his friends’ faces.

He sips his coffee again, pretending to think about it before he nods slowly, “fine, I’m down.”

Ten and Yuta fist bump again, and Taeyong is grateful for when the topic of conversation quickly shifts from his sex life to what colour Yuta should dye his hair.

“You should come with me to the salon,” Yuta suggests to Taeyong when he finally decides on dyeing his hair auburn.

“You said you wanted grey streaks like, a month ago and you still haven’t done it.” Yuta continues, reaching across the table to pet Taeyong’s head.

Taeyong twists out of the way of Yuta’s grabby hands, “I don’t know if the hospital will allow it,” he says pointedly and Yuta shakes his head.

“Nice try, old man, but hospital rules say you’re allowed to dye your hair as long as it looks natural.” Yuta taps at his temple and grins.

“I have never seen you pick up the hospital guideline book once,” Taeyong scoffs and Yuta’s grin only widens.

“You know I don’t read,” Yuta says offhandedly, “besides, the guy who works in HR told me.”

Taeyong raises a eyebrow, suddenly amused, “Sicheng? Yeah, I bet he did.”

Yuta laughs, though his cheeks are pink, “yeah, he was on his shift when I got to the hospital and he recently dyed his hair black.”

“Wait,” Ten interrupts with a mouthful of hash brown, “who is Sicheng?”

“He’s this guy who recently started working in HR and he literally comes down to the emergency room to see Yuta whenever he’s working,” Taeyong supplies happily, not missing the way the blush has reached Yuta’s ears by now.

“He has the fattest crush on this clown over here,” Taeyong continues, “I’m pretty sure if Yuta just smiled in his direction, he might collapse.”

Yuta laughs again, though it’s slightly pitchy and nervous, “stop it, Taeyong, he’s just trying to be friendly.”

At this point, Ten gathers the gist of it and pipes up, “friendly with your dick, from what it seems.”

Taeyong chokes back his laugh, ducking when Yuta flings a spoonful of scrambled eggs at him.

—

“This is definitely too much.”

Ten looks up from where he’s busy applying eyeliner and sighs in annoyance, “it’s not enough, Tae, the point is to be noticed.”

“But I look like I have a black eye,” Taeyong complains and Ten stands up straight from where he’s bent by the mirror, “it’s called looking sexy, not that you would know.”

Still, Ten brushes the hair on Taeyong’s forehead away and uses a makeup wipe to lighten the heavy eyeshadow on Taeyong’s eyes. It’s still too much but with the lightened eyeshadow, Taeyong can appreciate Ten’s handiwork. The glittery silver eyeshadow in the corners of his eyes compliments Taeyong’s freshly silver streaked hair and the smudged black shadow makes his eyes look bigger. Ten had applied a sheer layer of BB cream on Taeyong’s skin and a bare touch of clear lip gloss which Taeyong would never admit to Ten that he likes. A lot. His face makeup works nicely with his black satin blouse and tight, ripped black jeans, courtesy of Ten.

“We look hot,” Ten remarks, arm wrapped around Taeyong’s shoulder, pulling him into the frame of his camera to take a few selfies.

“We do.” Taeyong admits, pouting at Ten’s phone as he clicks away.

Ten grins, “Taeyongie, we look like sluts.”

Their outfits match, though Ten’s blouse is white and tied up to expose a few inches of his slim waist and his eyes are lined heavily with jet black eyeliner. His dark hair is gelled up, leaving his face as the focus.

“Come on, Yuta just texted.”

The car outside Ten’s apartment complex is unfamiliar but Yuta pokes his head out of the front passenger window, waving frantically. Strands of his fiery new hair fall into his eyes. Taeyong greets him and ducks into the back with Ten.

“Hope you guys don’t mind,” Yuta peers over the back of his seat, “I invited Sicheng and he offered to be our designated driver.”

“I’m sure he did,” Ten snorts in Taeyong’s ear.

Taeyong stifles a laugh, biting his lip in order to keep the noises in, “nice to see you again, Sicheng.”

“It’s good to meet you, I’m Ten,” Ten reaches forward, clasping Sicheng’s shoulder briefly before sinking back into his seat.

“Nice to meet you, Ten, and good to see you too, Taeyong,” Sicheng says politely, pulling out of the parking lot.

The club, Flora, is dimly lit and packed, hazy purple and blue lights shine brightly, creating an atmosphere of excitement. Immediately, Yuta and Sicheng cut off from the group with promises of bringing back drinks, though the way Yuta laughs at Sicheng’s bad joke is enough indication that they won’t come back for sometime. Taeyong worms his way between the packed floor towards the bar, fingers linked tightly with Ten’s. At the bar, Ten slides past Taeyong and orders some shots before Taeyong can protest.

When Ten hands him two shot glasses, Taeyong wrinkles his nose, “what is it?”

Ten waves a hand absently, “it’ll get you drunk fast, which is what you need.”

Taeyong wants to say something but Ten knocks both back smoothly so he puts the glass to his lips and swallows. It’s dry and sharp with a twinge of sweetness and it leaves a burn in Taeyong’s throat. Oddly, he doesn’t mind it. Taeyong takes the second one and doesn’t say anything when Ten orders two more.

With three shots of straight alcohol burning down his throat, Taeyong grasps Ten’s hand again and leads him to the dance floor. The bass of the music is louder and heavier on the dance floor and the lights are blinding; Taeyong squints and catches a glimpse of Yuta and Sicheng dancing rather close across the floor from him and Ten.

“You think they’re going to fuck?” Ten asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows and Taeyong giggles, nodding.

Taeyong isn’t much of a dancer and the alcohol is slowly beginning to hit him so he lets Ten wrap an arm around his neck and sways his hips to the rhythm of Ten’s dancing. Warmth rises from the pit of his stomach to his cheeks and he laughs, high pitched and squeaky, when Ten makes another joke about Yuta and Sicheng.

“Dude, that guy is definitely checking you out.” Ten says, leaning forward to speak in Taeyong’s ear. The music is loud and Taeyong can barely hear anything aside from it.

“Who?” He steadies himself by gripping Ten’s arm before following Ten’s gaze up towards the VIP section.

Taeyong squints, struggling to find a figure in the dimness. When he spots him, Taeyong feels his blood run cold. In such terrible lighting, Taeyong could never tell who it was, yet the hair, platinum blond, triggers his memory immediately. Taeyong’s ears ring.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbles, dazed.

Though he doesn’t want to, Taeyong looks at Jaehyun, tearing his gaze away when Jaehyun spots him. The VIP section is near the bar, only a few meters from where they’re dancing; Taeyong knows Jaehyun has seen him by now. His hand tightens on Ten’s arm. Ten doesn’t say anything, though Taeyong knows he is too smart not to consider it relevant. He focuses his attention back to Ten and on how to move his body again so he can dance but it doesn’t work. Taeyong decides he’s definitely not drunk enough for whatever is going to happen tonight so he tears himself away from Ten and stumbles towards the bar.

He’s waiting for his shots when instinctively, his eyes glance towards the VIP section again, surprised to see that Jaehyun is no longer there.

“Do you want to dance?”

Taeyong whips around, finding himself chest to chest with Jaehyun. There is no expression on his face though he looks handsome, wisps of blond hair falling into his forehead. Taeyong barely registers the bartender putting his shot down before he grabs it, knocking it back in one stroke. He swallows the alcohol, ignoring the liquid heat sliding down his throat, and wills his hands to stop trembling. He nods. Jaehyun smiles, a bare twitch of his mouth and leads Taeyong towards the dance floor. Taeyong’s eyes dart towards Ten, who is already busy dancing with someone else. He scans the dance floor once more, unable to find Yuta or Sicheng. He turns his attention back to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun’s hand is warm on Taeyong’s hip, grip loose, “I did not expect someone like you to be at a place like this.”

Taeyong resists the urge to roll his eyes, “someone like me?” He throws an arm over Jaehyun’s shoulder, “you don’t even know my name.”

At this, Jaehyun’s smile widens slightly and the beginning of a dimple appears on his cheek, “I know enough about you, Lee Taeyong.”

They sway to the heavy beat for a moment and Taeyong’s head swims with the effect of the alcohol. The purple lights glimmer against Jaehyun’s skin and when he tilts his head, something jumps in Taeyong’s chest. He chalks it up to the many straight shots of alcohol he’s drunk.

Jaehyun leans forward, as if to say something, and Taeyong fights the instinct to pull away, unable to stop his hand from twitching against Jaehyun’s shoulder.

“Don’t be scared, Taeyong,” Jaehyun looks slightly amused, eyes glinting in the dim light.

“I told you, all those months ago,” he dips forward to speak in Taeyong’s ear, breath minty and hot, “I won’t hurt you.”

Taeyong nods dizzily, licking his lips.

Part of him knows that he no longer fears Jaehyun, not anymore. Fear isn’t something that builds easily inside of him and Taeyong figures the drop of his heartbeat when Jaehyun is in the picture is the product of curiosity. It’s dangerous, indescribably so, to be associated with Jaehyun. He knows what happens to people like him, he’s seen it on the news enough.

Taeyong snaps out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He steps back, blinking several times to adjust to the bright light from his phone. He glances at his notifications with a frown.

_**Yuta, 2:09 am:** going home with sicheng ;) do u mind taking a cab?_

_**Ten, 2:37 am:** im leaving with this redonkulously hot dude._

_**Ten, 2:37 am:** not trying to be a dick and leaving you alone but ur boy needs it. (The dick)_

_**Ten, 2:38 am:** i see you with that dumb sexy guy ;) ;) ;) ;)_

Taeyong sighs, trying to stop his eye from twitching at the irresponsibility of his friends. _Let’s go clubbing,_ they said, _it’ll be fun,_ they said. _They’re the only ones having fun right now,_ he thinks bitterly. He texts half hearted replies back to his friends and then turns his attention back to Jaehyun.

“Just got ditched by my asshole friends,” he laughs dryly.

Jaehyun is silent for a moment. Heavy bass beats between them.

“I can give you a ride home.” He offers.

If Taeyong shakes his head too quickly, Jaehyun doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not a problem, I’ll just get a cab.”

Jaehyun shrugs, “I’m leaving now, anyway, I have some business to attend to. And besides, cabs rarely stop here, you’ll have to walk to the main street.”

Taeyong considers this; he’s tipping on the edge of drunk and there’s no point in thinking Jaehyun will legitimately try to murder him or something. It’s their third meeting and he has yet to do anything but be mildly threatening. He considers his chances of survival and decides to go with it.

“Okay.”

Jaehyun smiles pleasantly, the kind of smile that belongs in a boardroom meeting and not in the middle of sweaty bodies in a club. He pulls out his phone and calls someone, mumbling quietly. Taeyong can’t hear what he’s saying over the deafening music. When he’s finished with his call he points to the back exit of the club.

“My car is out back.”

Taeyong follows him towards the back of the club, unable to miss the way several men dressed in black approach Jaehyun. Jaehyun shakes his head, so quick and discreet that a less paranoid Taeyong would never have have noticed. The men back off and Taeyong is grateful to step out of the heat of the club and into the cool, breezy Seoul night.

The parking lot in the back of the club is small, intended for those with VIP access and Jaehyun’s car is parked near the back. It’s a sleek, shiny black Mercedes Benz that looks brand new, so brand new that Taeyong almost hesitates touching it.

“You have a nice car,” he says, buckling his seatbelt.

Jaehyun smiles, “thank you.”

Taeyong assumes Jaehyun knows how to get to the building, considering he once lived there, so he doesn’t bother with directions. It’s silent in the car, nothing but the quiet music bleeding out of the speakers filling the space between them.

“I did not forget my debt to you, Taeyong,” Jaehyun is the first to speak, breaking the peace.

“I told you,” Taeyong avoids looking at him, “you don’t owe me.”

“You saved my life,” Jaehyun looks away from the road for a moment, eyes locking with Taeyong’s, “and you saved my brother’s life.”

“That was your brother?”

“Johnny is my half-brother,” Jaehyun clarifies, but does not elaborate.

He continues, “but his life is important to me, and you helped save it.”

Jaehyun reaches into the small compartment between their seats, producing a business card between his fingers. He hands the card to Taeyong, “whenever you have an emergency, anything, just call this number.”

Taeyong wants to snort; it’s all a little theatrical and secretive, the type of stuff he’s only seen in movies, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he takes the card, crumpling it slightly between his fingers.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Jaehyun pulls into the parking lot of Taeyong’s apartment building, shifting the car into park. Taeyong glances out the window; he didn’t even realize they stopped. Jaehyun turns to Taeyong, the corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile.

“It was good to see you, Taeyong,” Jaehyun says, eyes flickering from Taeyong’s eyes to his mouth.

It's so brief that Taeyong wonders if it's his hazy brain tricking him. Compulsively, he licks his lips.

“We’ll be in touch,” Jaehyun’s voice is soft and he tilts his head to the side.

He doesn’t look like the man Taeyong first set his eyes on, hard and crude, though something sharp and unchecked simmers behind his neutral eyes and polite smile. Taeyong nods once and stumbles out of Jaehyun’s car, clutching the card in his hand as he watches him drive off.


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh this took me a good week to crank out but its finally here and hopefully, this chapter can give some details into jaehyuns life. just to clarify, jaehyun is way older than johnny and the term capo is used for someone pretty important in a crime family since it’s a title for someone who oversees certain rackets and soldiers!

Jaehyun taps his fingers against his thigh, willing his facial expressions to not display the disinterest he’s feeling inside. He frowns to himself when he notices a crease in his pants, thumb smoothing over the small ripple of fabric. He vaguely registers Doyoung still talking, something about an upcoming shipment of weapons, though Jaehyun finds it hard to concentrate. Once he’s satisfied with his now creaseless pants, he focuses his attention back on the meeting.

“Someone needs to supervise,” Doyoung says, scanning the room with his sharp eyes, “ _CBX_ have been getting bolder and the boss doesn’t want to take any risks.” His eyes stop on Johnny, “Youngho?”

Johnny shrugs and then nods, “yeah I’ll go,” he says.

Doyoung nods curtly, nudging his rimmed glasses up his nose as he makes a quick note. He speaks again, “that is all for now, the meeting is adjourned.”

Jaehyun stifles his sigh of relief, standing to leave. Doyoung waves a hand in his direction and Jaehyun furrows his brow but sits back down, trying not to let the irritation he’s feeling become obvious. He watches Johnny leave wordlessly, though not before he shoots Jaehyun a concerned look. Jaehyun only half smiles to reassure him. Doyoung says nothing until the room is empty, turning to Jaehyun with his mouth pressed together, gaze unreadable behind his glasses.

“The boss didn’t forget about what happened to you,” Doyoung clasps his hands together and leans back in his chair, “ _CBX_ will get what they deserve.”

Jaehyun doesn’t speak, fingers tracing lazy patterns into his thigh, tilting his head to the side, letting Doyoung continue.

“He plans to hit them hard. _CBX_ have a shipment of diamonds coming next month from Europe,” Doyoung is not one for smiles, yet his mouth twitches upwards slightly, “face value hits nearly thirty billion dollars.” He pauses for effect, pleased when Jaehyun is unable to stop his mouth from falling open.

Jaehyun whistles lowly, “that’s a fuck load of diamonds,” he replies, sinking back into his chair,

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Doyoung pauses for a moment, “it’s going to be life changing for _NEO._ ”

He isn’t wrong; a face value of thirty billion alone makes the idea of stealing it out from under _CBX’s_ nose very appealing. Taking credit for such a job would make _NEO_ a target, a clever, _pulled-off-a-thirty-billion-dollar-theft_ target. But the sheer amount of power it would put in their hands is dizzying; Jaehyun can’t even wrap his mind around it. It sounds good and Jaehyun knows the boss is ambitious, but thirty billion seems out of the range of anything _NEO_ soldiers could pull off. It seems out of their reach.

“You’re telling me that the boss wants to hit _CBX_ that hard just because Johnny and I got shot at a couple of times?” He tries his best to restrain the edge of skepticism in his voice, but he’s sure Doyoung has already noticed.

“You were ambushed twice,” Doyoung corrects, “and no, not just because of that, though the boss doesn’t take kindly to his soldiers, especially his _Capo_ being threatened like that.”

Doyoung sits up a little, “you’re lucky to have even survived the first time, considering how fast _CBX_ soldiers ripped through your security. If Youngho wasn’t around the second time, they would’ve killed you on the spot.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Jaehyun says dryly.

When he had tipped the Seoul police off about the mayor, Hwang Young Jin, being on _CBX’s_ payroll months ago, he had anticipated _CBX_ to fight back. He supposes all of this is the ripple of his actions, whether his actions and motivations were in the interest of _NEO_ or not.

“This is a very sensitive operation, Jaehyun, don’t speak of this to anyone until the boss has a chance to hold a proper meeting,” and then, Doyoung hesitates, “I don’t know if it’s true but the boss thinks there’s a mole.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, “I don’t believe that,” he says, “ _NEO_ soldiers are loyal.”

Doyoung glares at him almost immediately, all traces of his previous hesitations evaporating, “don’t say that in front of the boss,” he replies hotly.

“That’s all,” Doyoung is already turning back to his phone, disregarding Jaehyun’s presence.

Jaehyun wants to roll his eyes; Doyoung always did have a stick up his ass, he thinks as he exits the conference room.

“What was that about?” Johnny asks, sliding down towards the other end of the car as Jaehyun ducks his head and takes a seat.

“Doyoung was just asking about my clubs.” Jaehyun replies, patting Johnny’s arm in reassurance.

Johnny looks visibly relieved, “good,” he sighs, “I’ve been worried about you lately.”

There’s a slight frown on Johnny’s lips and his eyebrows are furrowed and Jaehyun is painfully reminded of his brother’s youth in that moment so he shakes his head and grips Johnny’s arm tighter, “I am always careful.” He says firmly.

“Back to my apartment, please,” Jaehyun tells the driver and then turns back to Johnny.

Johnny’s frown deepens as he runs a hand through his dark hair, “Youngjae told me about last night. He said you left the club without security with some guy.”

Jaehyun stays silent for a moment and Johnny takes the opportunity to speak again, “do you know how dangerous that is? Especially now? _CBX_ will kill you on the spot the moment they catch you slipping.”

“I don’t even know how you survived the first time,” Johnny takes a deep breath and briefly, Jaehyun thinks, _Lee Taeyong_ , “you know I would die for you, Jae, in a heartbeat, but I am not with you all the time so please, be careful.”

Jaehyun wants to say nothing, wants to keep quiet and let Johnny work through his frustrations, but his brother’s eyebrows are knit in concern, mouth pulled into a frown, so Jaehyun nods, slowly.

“Hey, Johnny, look at me,” Jaehyun hooks a finger under Johnny’s chin, speaking when his gaze locks with his brother’s. He tries to keep his tone soft, “ _CBX_ tried it twice and they won’t get a third chance.”

He waits patiently, one moment, another moment, and another, until Johnny’s face relaxes and he shrugs out of Jaehyun’s grip. Jaehyun pulls away, satisfied.

“If you say so.”

Jaehyun nods, “I do.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes when Johnny’s frown morphs into a slight smile, “who was that guy, anyway?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

“A friend,” Jaehyun replies instantly.

Johnny purses his lips, smile widening, “a friend,” he repeats, his tone teasing.

Jaehyun doesn’t elaborate and thankfully, Johnny doesn’t pry any further. A part of him is glad that Johnny's memory of Taeyong is foggy due to his concussion. He lets his gaze wander out the window, watching the buildings and trees whiz by. Jaehyun thinks back to the previous night, to Taeyong and his glassy eyes, smudged with dark eyeshadow and his pretty mouth pulled into a pout. He had wanted to kiss him then, wanted to press him into the car window and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe properly. He didn’t though, the air of caution around Taeyong when he spoke and the unspoken knowledge of who Jaehyun _is_ and what he does, kept him from acting on his urges.

When the car pulls into the underground parking lot beneath Jaehyun’s building, he bids goodbye to Johnny, stepping out of the car to two, inconspicuously dressed bodyguards, waiting for him. They flank him as he begins to walk towards the elevator and follow behind him until he reaches his apartment.

The security is necessary for his safety, especially now, and though Jaehyun wants to believe he has survived this long on his own abilities, he knows that he would be dead in an instant if it were not for his bodyguards and a small amount of sheer luck. Luck, he thinks with amusement, is what brought Lee Taeyong to him. Luck is what made Taeyong help him, _twice_ , with nimble, careful fingers that wiped away the crimson stains on Johnny’s skin and replaced them with neat bandages. And it was luck that caused them to meet at the club, sheer, dumb luck that made Taeyong, beautiful, tipsy Taeyong, dance with him.

Jaehyun places his gun down on the kitchen counter, loosening his tie before finding his bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass. He collapses on his couch, shutting his eyes, though his peace is short lived. His phone buzzes impatiently in his pocket and Jaehyun sighs, tipping some scotch into his mouth before putting down his glass. He tucks his gun back into the waistband of his dress pants and fixes his tie, slipping out of the comfort of his apartment once more.

—

A week after Jaehyun had given Taeyong his personal number, Taeyong calls.

It’s nearly midnight and Jaehyun had blissfully escaped a meeting with the owner of one of the clubs on his payroll, ducking into his car when his phone rings. The number is unknown, Jaehyun frowns but swipes and accepts the call.

“Hello?”

The speaker crackles and a familiar voice speaks, _“is this Jaehyun?”_

“This is him,” and though Jaehyun has a feeling about who it is, “who is this?”

 _“H-hey, it’s Lee Taeyong.”_ Taeyong says and Jaehyun doesn’t miss the way he stutters.

“Taeyong, how are you?” Jaehyun asks politely.

 _“I’m,”_ Taeyong laughs nervously, forced, _“I was wondering if we could meet somewhere.”_

Jaehyun narrows his eyes and considers. Taeyong is nervous, _frightened_ , voice tight when he speaks. Something isn’t right. Jaehyun almost tells Taeyong to wait for him to come to his apartment and then pauses, thinking back to Johnny’s words, _CBX will kill you on the spot the moment they catch you slipping._ He scrubs a hand over his chin.

“I’m sending a car, are you home?”

Half an hour later, there are four sharp raps on his door; Jaehyun opens it to Taeyong and two of Jaehyun’s bodyguards standing outside his door.

“You changed your hair colour,” Taeyong says abruptly, blinking owlishly.

Jaehyun nods, shutting the door once Taeyong is inside, “I did.”

Absently, he runs a hand through his now brown hair, thinking back to a few days ago when Johnny’s snide comments on his blond hair had taken their toll and Jaehyun had immediately had it coloured again. Taeyong is silent for a moment as he rocks on his feet. He’s wearing blue scrubs, backpack sling over one shoulder and when he reaches into the pocket of his scrubs, Jaehyun notices the sharp, angry marks on his right wrist. He follows Taeyong’s hand, heart dropping to his stomach when Taeyong produces a single, gold bullet.

Taeyong’s fingers shake, bullet pinched between his thumb and index finger and Jaehyun swallows, trying not to let his initial shock show as he takes it from him. Immediately, Taeyong’s shoulders slump and he sighs in relief, tipping his head slightly, as if free from a burden. Upon inspection, Jaehyun catches the crude _J_ engraved on the side of the metal casing.

“Who gave this to you?” Jaehyun asks, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

Taeyong looks up with weary eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I don’t know who it was.”

It’s in that moment that Jaehyun notices Taeyong’s state; he looks tired, skittish, eyes darting from Jaehyun to the floor, fingernail scraping almost painfully at the side of his thumb. Strands of silver and black hair fall into his alert eyes. Automatically, Jaehyun softens.

“Come, sit down,” Jaehyun says gently, leading them towards the couch.

Taeyong sits in the corner of the couch, dropping his bag carefully at his feet, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Jaehyun leaves him for a moment to fill up a glass of water from the kitchen. His mind races; he knows who sent this warning for him and he knows why. He’s been a steady target for the past several months but he wonders why would they threaten Taeyong to pass the message. He places the glass down on the coffee table and takes a seat beside Taeyong.

“What happened?” He asks, keeping his voice low and as calming as he can manage.

Taeyong looks up, dark eyes swimming with anxiousness, startling Jaehyun with how close they’re sitting; he shifts and moves a few inches away. Taeyong is silent for what seems like forever, mouth pressed into a tight line as he conjures up details for Jaehyun.

“I left the hospital,” he starts, “and when I got to my apartment, there were two men outside.” Taeyong stills for a moment, shutting his eyes briefly, “they had guns. One of them grabbed me and said that they had a message for you.”

Taeyong pauses and Jaehyun hesitates briefly, and then places a hand on Taeyong’s knee, “go on,” he urges.

“He said to tell you that the third time's the charm.” Taeyong says finally.

Jaehyun sits perfectly still for a moment, bullet clenched in his hand. It’s warm and the pointed tip digs into the meat of his palm. He barely notices it.

“Just wait here, I have to make a call.” He says, leaving Taeyong on the couch, ducking into his bedroom, Doyoung’s number already dialed.

 _“You are aware that it’s nearly one in the morning?”_ Doyoung's voice is laced with sleep and annoyance, not bothering with polite greetings.

“ _CBX_ just sent another threat,” he says, sighing heavily, “I want to push the meeting with the boss.”

 _“How? You’re surrounded by security all the time.”_ Doyoung asks and Jaehyun shakes his head to himself.

He sticks his head out of the door, eyes darting across the hallway to where Taeyong is still sitting in the living room, looking as if he might throw up any minute.

“The threat wasn’t directed at me.”

 _“Youngho?”_ Doyoung asks.

Jaehyun cards a hand through his hair, “it doesn’t matter who, can you set up the meeting earlier or no?”

It’s quiet for a moment and then Jaehyun hears Doyoung sigh, _“I’ll try my best.”_

He hangs up the phone and shuffles back outside, relieved to find Taeyong still tucked at the side of the couch, elbow resting on the arm of the couch, palm supporting his chin.

“This happened outside your apartment?” He asks carefully.

Jaehyun takes a seat beside him again and Taeyong nods slowly.

“It’s not safe for you there anymore.” Jaehyun says and Taeyong’s gaze snaps towards him, eyebrows knit in nervousness.

“Those men who threatened you might come back,” Jaehyun explains, “it’s best for you to not be at your apartment until,” he trails off, taking note of Taeyong’s scrubs once more, “when do you work again?”

Taeyong tilts his head, “I just finished my four day rotation, so not for another four days.”

“Until next week, then.” Jaehyun finishes.

Taeyong leans forward, just slightly, “where do you think I should go?”

His voice is quiet and he looks thoroughly worn out and stiff. Jaehyun feels his throat constrict, eyes catching the way Taeyong chews on his bottom lip almost hysterically, the way his eyes crinkle, making the small birthmark under his right eye more visible and he can’t stop himself.

“You can stay here.”

The words tumble out his mouth easily, “I have security outside and a spare bedroom. You can stay until you have to go back to work.”

He watches as Taeyong considers this, eyes trained on his hands in his lap. His fingers are tangled tightly, skin going white.

“Okay,” and then, “if it’s not a problem for you.”

And Jaehyun wants to laugh, then, wants to laugh at the fact that Taeyong was just threatened a mere hour ago, a _bullet_ pressed into his palm, on Jaehyun’s behalf, and he considers himself a burden on Jaehyun.

“No,” Jaehyun shakes his head, “it’s not a problem, at all.”

“I will just make sure the room is okay,” he stands, “if you’re hungry, please, help yourself,” he points out the fridge and pantry to Taeyong, who still looks shaken, but nods anyway.

Jaehyun allows himself a few moments with his thoughts as he grabs a few sets of clothes from his own closet, a few pair of sweatpants and shirts and unopened packages of socks and boxers. _CBX_ soldiers loitered around the clubs he was in charge of more than often and he decides it’s possible that they saw Taeyong with him at the club. A twinge of guilt hits him then; he had all but led them to where Taeyong lived. He ducks into the guest bathroom, double checking the cabinets for hygiene items before placing all the clothes he’s collected in his arms on the bed. He makes his way back to the living room to find Taeyong in the exact spot he had left him.

“Let me know if the clothes don’t fit, I can send someone to your apartment tomorrow,” he clears his throat, “the bathroom is just across the hall, if you need anything just let me know.”

Jaehyun waits for Taeyong to disappear into the room before he collapses on the couch, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. The only thing that remains static in his mind is, why Taeyong? Intimidating a man like him was not easy; there were too few people he cared for, which made threats against him exceedingly difficult. The thought of it is overwhelming, but if _CBX_ wanted to send a message, threatening Johnny would have worked almost too easily. His mind blanks for a moment and then it hits him, like a wave breaking the water, sharp, fast, knocking the air out of him. Jaehyun had left the club with Taeyong, without security, and had driven him home himself. The implications blare like a neon sign.

He can vaguely hear the shower start as he pours himself a drink. It tastes like water on his tongue, his mind whirring over more pressing concerns. He swallows the rest of it down, leaning back against the couch. It’s uncomfortable and the position will leave him sore and he’s somewhat aware of the fact that he’s still in his dress pants and shirt but he’s exhausted and sleep comes easily.

He wakes up a few hours later, his mouth cotton dry, groaning when he feels the crick in his neck when he stands, stumbling into the kitchen. It’s nearly five in the morning he realizes as he gulps down a glass of water before he shuffles towards his room, pausing compulsively outside Taeyong’s room. His door is ajar slightly and Jaehyun is unable to stop the erratic thump in his chest when he sees Taeyong curled up in bed, asleep. He enters his own room, slipping out of his uncomfortable clothes and into a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt. He slides beneath his covers, sighing contentedly at the feeling of the cool sheets against his heated skin. Instinctively, he checks for the handgun under the pillow beside him, settling back into the sheets. Tomorrow, his mind will go into overdrive, unable to accept his moment of weakness in letting Taeyong into the safe, secure environment of his apartment, unable to accept that this is only the beginning and that his poor decisions have knocked Taeyong headfirst into his world.

For now, Jaehyun shuts his eyes and sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this chapter please leave me all your thoughts i love reading comments, they motivate me so much!


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully frequent updates are okay, i def have an idea of how i want to structure the rest of this fic so im really excited to post!

There are a lot of ways Taeyong can imagine spending his Saturday morning and cooking breakfast in the kitchen of a criminal, drowning in his clothes, is not one of them. It had occurred to him when he woke up at just past nine in the morning, that he was sleeping in the guest bedroom of a literal gangster but his stomach growled almost painfully, having been empty for nearly 24 hours and he comes to the conclusion that he’s hit rock bottom and that it can only get worse from here, so he might as well eat breakfast.

So Taeyong fries his eggs and fights back the yawn threatening to rip from his throat, pausing only to roll up the waistband of the sweatpants higher up his hips. The clothes fit bad; the black t-shirt is slightly baggy and brushes against the tops of his thighs and the sweatpants need adjusting every few minutes but other than that he considers it a win. The only win he’s had these past few days, Taeyong thinks wryly.

He doesn’t give himself time to think about what occurred last night; if he stops and considers the sequence of events that took place last night, he knows he might faint in the middle of the kitchen. The angry red marks on his wrist have blossomed into a blotchy, purple bruise, a physical, tangible reminder of what happened. Taeyong wills his mind to not go back to the moment when the man roughly grabbed him by his wrist, the impact of his calloused grip leaving stains on Taeyong’s skin.

He remembers their words so clearly, so vividly, considering he had replayed them in his mind a thousand times last night.

_“Tell your scum boyfriend that we know what his plans are. If he tries anything, we’ll kill you first, pretty boy, and then, we will kill him. Tell him that the third time's the charm.”_

Absently, his mind wanders back to Jaehyun and the eerie, stillness on his face when Taeyong repeated the words to him and briefly, Taeyong wonders why he left out so many of those words, why he left out the threat against his own life. His life, he supposes, is worth little to a man like Jaehyun and what happens to Taeyong won’t have matter to him. He doesn’t let himself think about it further and wills his mind not to think about the sheer fright and anxiety he had felt, then, the way his ears rang, the way his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest, blinking away the images of guns and bullets and the thought that he might have died outside his apartment, _again_. Taeyong tries not to think about it and instead focuses on his breakfast.

Jaehyun has a nice apartment in the sense that it’s neat and minimal and in the sense that his coffee table looks like it costs more than Taeyong’s rent. His furniture is sleek, all dark wood and glinting metal with dark carpets and grey walls. The way it is furnished makes it look like it belongs in a catalog; it doesn’t look like someone lives here. It’s so picture perfect that Taeyong feels as if he’s almost intruding, especially when he accidentally splashes hot oil over the shiny stove top from cracking an egg into the pan. The kitchen feels barely used, as if all the appliances are for show, and when Taeyong rummages through the cabinets to find plates, he only finds paper ones. He considers making coffee but one look at the shiny, almost brand new coffee machine and its intricate buttons is enough for him to decide against it.

He transfers his eggs to the plate and then hesitates for a moment before cracking two more eggs into the pan, tossing two slices of bread into the toaster. Even gangsters have to eat.

“Good morning,” Jaehyun’s voice is rough and low, startling Taeyong out of his thoughts.

He almost dropping his spatula as he turns to find Jaehyun slipping a shirt over his head, the pale expanse of his muscled torso visible for a moment before he tugs his shirt down completely, carding a hand through his sleep mussed hair. He smiles, a tired half smile that causes one of his dimples to become barely visible and Taeyong feels his mouth go dry, heart speeding up slightly as he averts his gaze back to the eggs sizzling away in the pan, “good morning,” he manages to reply.

He transfers the eggs to another plate, grabbing the toast from the toaster before putting down the plate on the counter near Jaehyun.

“You made me breakfast?” Jaehyun asks and Taeyong narrows his eyes, wondering if the plate of food in front of him is not obvious enough.

“I did,” he replies instead and before he can help it, “it would’ve been better but all you had was eggs and a box of takeout in your fridge.” He doesn’t mention the large quantities of several different wines and beers he saw taking up the space of where actual food should be stored.

Jaehyun tilts his head to the side, as if trying to shake the remnants of sleep still clouding around him and grabs the plate, “thank you,” he says, in a way that almost sounds sincere.

“I would have made coffee,” Taeyong ducks his head, slightly embarrassed, “but I don’t know how to work the machine.”

At that, Jaehyun smiles, wider than before, slightly amused and _kinder_ and not at all like the smiles Taeyong has grown accustomed to, shuffling past Taeyong to the coffee machine. He presses a few buttons and watches as steam begins to rise from the machine and coffee begins to drip into the pot.

Taeyong shovels a few bites of eggs and toast in his mouth, slowing down only when his stomach begins to feel sated. Jaehyun eats in silence, eyes trained on the kitchen counter almost intently and Taeyong chews his own toast quietly, focusing on the fresh, strong aroma of coffee that is steadily filling the kitchen.

When Jaehyun reaches into the cabinets, Taeyong furrows his brows, “you know that paper utensils are bad for the environment, right?” He says, fully expecting him to pull out paper cups.

To his mild surprise, Jaehyun produces two white mugs with a bare smirk that can only be described as smug. Taeyong tries not to roll his eyes.

“I don’t cook,” Jaehyun admits, pouring coffee into the mugs, sliding one across the counter to Taeyong, “thank you for the food.”

Taeyong almost says that it’s only eggs, arguably to easiest food to cook in the world but instead, he sips his coffee and nods. And when Jaehyun grabs their used plates and tosses them in the garbage bin, letting Taeyong slide by him to stick the frying pan and mugs into the sink, Taeyong is struck with the air of domesticity that surrounds them and he almost forgets that he can’t let his guard down around a man like Jaehyun.

He watches Jaehyun disappear down the hall towards his room and busies himself with washing the dishes; he is a guest, after all, even if it is at the home of a criminal.

Taeyong fiddles with his phone on the couch for the next twenty minutes, replying to unanswered messages and scrolling through Instagram until he hears the sharp click of his dress shoes against the hardwood floors.

Jaehyun appears, fixing the collar of his dress shirt, “I have some business to attend to,” he says, discrete in the way he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants, fixing his blazer so it looks as if there is nothing there at all.

“Is it about last night?”

Jaehyun’s expression doesn’t betray anything, “it depends.”

Taeyong stands, ignoring the way his steady thump of his heartbeat picks up, “you need to tell me what that was all about.”

He had never in a million years intended to be in the situation he is in now; if someone told an anxious and paranoid Taeyong a few months ago that he would be living with a criminal for a day, let alone a week, he might have collapsed right there on the spot. And yet, here he is, standing in Jaehyun’s living room, feeling bolder by the second, curious for some answers.

Jaehyun doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“I don’t need to tell you anything.” His voice is calm. Hard.

“Then I don’t need to stay here,” Taeyong is surprised by how coolly the words leave his mouth.

“Do you want to die?”

 _What do you care?_ Taeyong almost asks, biting his lip to stop himself from speaking.

Jaehyun strides across the room, stopping only when he is a few feet away from Taeyong. He fights the instinct to shift away from Jaehyun’s intent gaze.

“Beats living with a liar.” He says, finally.

Jaehyun narrows his eyes, “it doesn’t concern you.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “I would say, that after playing nurse for you twice and almost dying at your expense last night, it is my concern.”

Jaehyun is closer now, close enough that Taeyong can smell his dizzying cologne and clearly see his honey coloured eyes and the way they drag over Taeyong’s face, analytical and calculating. The planes of his face are soft, all of Jaehyun’s features are soft, yet the slant of his eyes is sharp and his mouth is pulled into a tight line. He’s challenging Taeyong to defy him further, Taeyong realizes faintly.

Instinctively, he catches his bottom lip between his teeth and inhales slowly. It becomes too much for him, then, and he feels like he’s surrounded by Jaehyun’s cold demeanor, icy in a way he wasn’t half an hour ago. It becomes a situation too familiar to last night and Taeyong reminds himself that Jaehyun is no different than those men who threatened him outside his apartment, the men who threaten and instill fear in others with their guns and power. Jaehyun might smile sometimes and he might talk to Taeyong politely but they are nothing alike. They are not friends.

Taeyong steps back, feeling the last of his short lived courage drain away, putting space between Jaehyun and him.

“I need clothes from my apartment, yours don’t fit.” He mumbles, brushing past Jaehyun and towards his room.

He doesn’t look back.

He spends the better half of the next hour or so scrolling through his phone. Taeyong hadn’t exactly planned an extended vacation at someone’s home and his backpack only contained a set of clothes from the hospital, a book he was almost finished reading, and an energy bar. He doesn’t know why he agreed to stay with Jaehyun, truthfully. He knew, then, that his apartment wasn’t safe for him and that it might never be safe for him again if he considers the threat against his life seriously. When Jaehyun had first suggested that Taeyong leave his apartment, his first thought was to stay with Yuta or Ten, though the idea of dragging them into this mess made Taeyong sick to the stomach. Jaehyun told him he could stay with with him and Taeyong didn’t think too hard about it, then, letting himself forget that Jaehyun was the reason he was in this situation in the first place.

Realistically, Jaehyun could protect him for now and Taeyong tries not to think about what will happen once he goes back to work and moves back to his own apartment. He tries not to think about what might happen to him.

_If he tries anything, we’ll kill you first, pretty boy, and then, we will kill him._

There are many, many questionable things Taeyong has done in short 25 years, many which were at the expense of his own dignity and almost always under the influence of his demon friends. Like the time he attempted to climb through the window of Yuta’s second floor apartment, batshit drunk, for some ramen with Ten giggling behind him and subsequently slipped and sprained his ankle. Or the time during freshman year of university, when Yuta had convinced Taeyong to help him move the couch he had found on the street to his apartment – “it’s a perfectly good couch just sitting there,” Yuta reasoned, and somehow it worked – and halfway up the stairs of Yuta’s shitty apartment building, Yuta stopped to flirt with the guy at the mailbox and the couch slipped from Taeyong’s grasp and he ended up in the ER with a broken toe. Taeyong figures, rather miserably, he has the type of face that attracts bad ideas and terrible decisions and he’s made his peace with it.

Beside him, his phone begins to vibrate and he stares blankly at the caller ID, registering his friend’s name before fumbling to swipe and accept.

 _“Yongie!”_ Yuta’s voice is almost shrill and Taeyong grimaces, though he would never admit to how good it feels to hear a familiar, friendly voice.

“Hey, Yuta.”

 _“Why do you sound so depressed, Taeyong, upset that you couldn’t pick up another shift this weekend?”_ Yuta mocks and Taeyong resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“I’m just sick, that’s all.” He sniffles as genuinely as he can muster.

 _“Are you good? Do you want me to come over?”_ Yuta’s voice is ebbed with concern.

“No,” Taeyong says instantly, almost too forcefully and he shifts his tone to something less intense, “no, I’m not in Seoul right now.”

He pauses, waiting for Yuta to process his lie.

_“Where are you?”_

“I’m,” Taeyong’s eyes flicker around the room, one hand scrubbing over his chin as he thinks of something, “I’m visiting my parents.”

 _“You didn’t tell me you were going away this week.”_ Yuta sighs over the phone, _“is everything okay?”_

“Yeah, yeah, it is, don’t worry. My mother just really wanted me to visit, that’s all.”

 _“Alright,”_ Yuta says, though he sounds mildly unconvinced, _“I’ll talk to you later, then, if you’re busy, yeah?”_

He hangs up the phone and falls back against the sheets. It’s nearly one in the afternoon by now and Taeyong feels his eyes get heavy with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept more than two hours last night which he considers a win since his mind had warped into overdrive and his eyes refused to stay closed. He curls up beneath the sheets, fighting back a yawn, and falls asleep.

By the time he wakes up, several hours have passed and in a moment of grogginess, Taeyong feels like he’s in his own bed, though the feeling is gone in an instant when his gaze snaps to the unfamiliar walls that surround him. He stifles a yawn, rubbing away the remnants of sleep from his eyes, frowning when his stomach grumbles.

Taeyong checks his phone and realizes it’s nearly five in the evening now and it’s been a while since he last ate. He isn’t looking forward to rummaging through the bare contents of Jaehyun’s kitchen, especially when he can count all the food he has on one hand. Eggs, toast, dry cereal but no milk, a jar of kimchi and a box of leftover takeout. He’s not particularly eager for another round of eggs and toast but he would rather eat that again than ask Jaehyun to pick up groceries. He almost snorts at that; it’s hard to imagine Jaehyun in his black suit and shiny shoes with a scowl fixed on his face, strolling through the grocery store to buy food.

He shuffles out of the room and to the bathroom, fingertips smoothing over the pillow creases on his face, frowning when they only become redder. He splashes some water on his face to get rid of any remainders of sleep and the pink flush on his cheeks, making his way to the kitchen with another yawn. Taeyong puts the frying pan on the stove and fills up a glass of water, gulping it down with a relieved sigh. He’s just about to reach into the fridge for some eggs when the front door of the apartment opens and Jaehyun steps in, holding several bags.

Taeyong isn’t exactly in the mood for making pleasantries with him but Jaehyun speaks before he can duck back into his room, eggs be damned.

“I brought dinner.” He clears his throat and puts down one of the bags on the counter.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow slightly when Jaehyun pulls out a box from another shopping bag, unable to stop the genuine way his heart seems to beat faster.

It’s a dinner set of plates and bowls, ones that look painfully expensive in the way Taeyong is almost afraid to touch them. Jaehyun has a neutral expression on his face and Taeyong wants to roll his eyes at the fact that a Jaehyun, a grown man, finally owns plates and instead, all he can do is keep his face straight, thumb tracing over the corner edge of the cardboard box.

He tries not to think about the fact that somewhere in between doing criminal shit, or whatever Jaehyun does during his day, he remembered Taeyong’s words.

Taeyong feels the beginnings of a blush beginning to crawl up his neck, “congratulations, you finally own your own plates.” He rolls his eyes, though the bare twitch of a smile on his face betrays him.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Jaehyun replies, and then smiles as well.

He busies himself with unwrapping the takeout boxes while Taeyong opens the box, carefully removing plates and bowls from the bubble wrap packaging, rinsing them all in the sink before drying two for them to use.

“I’ll send someone for your clothes and groceries tomorrow,” Jaehyun says, “you can leave a list on the counter.”

They eat and Taeyong tries not to think about the hard look in Jaehyun’s eyes earlier, the way Jaehyun can shift so easily in between his cold, cruel demeanour and slight, easy smiles and kind eyes. He tries not to think about the way the latter make his heart skip a beat and how the former leaves him more confused rather than afraid. Jaehyun had deflected his questions earlier and Taeyong had folded under the suffocating pressure of Jaehyun’s intimidating gaze but he supposes it’s not over yet. He’s in this mess now, and he would rather know what is going on instead of being in the dark. Jaehyun’s business is his own and Taeyong couldn’t care less about it – the less he knows about the undoubtedly illegal things Jaehyun is involved in, the better – and yet his mind replays the man’s words like a broken record.

_Tell your scum boyfriend that we know what his plans are._

Whatever plans Jaehyun has that subsequently put Taeyong’s life in danger, he wants to know what they are.

For now, Taeyong thanks Jaehyun for the food and continues to eat in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i hope you enjoyed it!! this is one of my fave chapters so far! :')


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh im warning you now that this is a very intense chapter. also, i know everyone is curious about CBX, the rival crime family but dont worry things will be explained soon!
> 
> also!! thank u for 200 kudos?? i cant believe so many people were kind enough to leave kudos esp since this is such a strange fic! thank u! i know i update super frequently right now since im home a lot recently and i want to start another fic, too, so thank u for all ur support!

Taeyong frowns at the washing machine for the third time in the past ten minutes, hesitant to press another button on the control pad. He takes another deep breath and presses what he can only assume is the start button. His frown grows when the washing machine beeps irritably at him; he throws his hands up in the air, annoyed, as he grabs his scrubs from the drum of the machine and shoves them back into his backpack. He’s officially given up with the unnecessarily complicated appliances in Jaehyun’s apartment and he figures he can just grab a spare pair of scrubs from the hospital when he gets there.

Four days have passed – rather uneventfully, all things considered – since Taeyong first stepped foot in Jaehyun’s apartment and he doesn’t know if he should be relieved to be finally leaving or not. Leaving means going back to his very unsafe apartment but staying for longer means succumbing to his common sense and telling Jaehyun that there’s a very high chance of him being murdered the second he steps into his apartment. And as much as Taeyong wants to think that Jaehyun being a literal criminal is the deciding factor in whether he wants to stay in his apartment or not, he knows it’s most likely because of the very new, though not unwelcome, way his heart threatens to leap out of his chest everytime Jaehyun is in his vicinity. Jaehyun’s presence is confusing for Taeyong’s heart and he supposes it’s better to finally put some space between them.

Living with him, Taeyong muses, isn’t as bad as it was in the beginning. Jaehyun is quiet, observant in a way that doesn’t feel prying anymore and it’s almost as if their argument on the first day never happened. They move around each other like ghosts since Jaehyun is rarely home which leaves Taeyong wander around the apartment, free to experiment and cook increasingly difficult meals and eat them with Jaehyun when he gets home. He can’t bring himself to mind too much about Jaehyun never being in the apartment; the less Taeyong considers Jaehyun’s rare, dazzling smiles and the slight and lovely dimples that appear with them when he realizes Taeyong has cooked a meal for them, the better. His days are filled with naps and three way calls between Yuta, Ten and him and in some twisted way, living with Jaehyun has been the most relaxing few days he’s had in awhile, even if all the appliances in his apartment seem like they were made to piss Taeyong off.

He stalks back into his room, tossing his now overstuffed backpack onto the bed with a long sigh and collapses next to it. It’s almost five in the evening and Taeyong’s twelve hour shift at the hospital begins at six. He doesn’t know how he’s going to carry his increasingly heavy backpack and the two other bags filled with his clothes onto the bus or how he’s going to store them in his tiny locker at the hospital, but he figures he will deal with that obstacle when he gets to it.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears the apartment door open and he shuffles back out into the kitchen, gaze meeting Jaehyun’s briefly.

“Hey,” he greets and then points to the pot on the stove, “I made stew, if you want to eat.”

Jaehyun shuts the door behind him, striding towards the kitchen with a slight, grateful smile, “hey,” he says, and then, “thanks, Taeyong.”

Something twists sharply inside Taeyong’s heart when Jaehyun says his name. It rolls off of his tongue smoothly, thick like honey.

“My shift starts at six so I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Taeyong wills his stupid, easy heart to calm down and pulls out his phone, frowning when he realizes that he’s already a few minutes behind.

The bus station is nearly ten minutes away from where Jaehyun lives and it comes in fifteen minutes so Taeyong realizes, almost miserably, that he’s going to have to run to the station unless he leaves now.

“I can take you to the hospital,” Jaehyun suggests.

Taeyong shakes his head, “I’ll be fine, it’s okay, the bus is coming soon.”

And even if Taeyong doesn’t want to admit it, Jaehyun really has done more than Taeyong would ever expect anyone, let alone a man like Jaehyun, to do for him.

“I don’t mind –”

There’s a low, muffled thud outside the apartment. Jaehyun is perfectly still for a moment, almost as if he’s tracing the source of the noise. There is silence for a few moments and then another thud of something falling in the hallway and Taeyong realizes with an uneasy feeling in his stomach, that it sounds like a _someone_ rather than a something.

“Jaehyun –”

“Get behind me,” Jaehyun’s voice is low and sharp, commanding, and Taeyong almost doesn’t realize that Jaehyun is standing in front of him, covering Taeyong from the door, reaching back beneath his suit jacket to pull out his gun. He wraps a hand around Taeyong’s wrist and pulls him down beneath the counter, shielding them both from anyone who might enter the apartment.

A thick, suffocatingly eerie silence fills the entire apartment and Taeyong doesn’t dare take another breath, blinking rapidly, heart hammering wildly against his chest. There’s a sharp noise that Taeyong realizes faintly is the sound of wood splintering, followed by several heavy, thudding footsteps.

Jaehyun turns to him, lifting one finger to his mouth in a silencing motion, though Taeyong’s throat feels so thick with fear he doubts he can manage to utter a single word even if he tried.

The next few minutes become a blur for him; the second Jaehyun rises from his crouching position, releasing the safety of his gun, Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut. He tries to count to ten in his mind and tries not to focus on the ear splitting sound of a gun firing several times followed by the thump of a body falling to the floor.

_1, 2, 3, 4 –_

Another gunshot, another muffled thud.

_5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 –_

When he opens his eyes, Jaehyun is a crouching position behind the counter again, standing every few seconds to peer over the counter. He’s mumbling something under his breath which Taeyong doesn’t catch before he turns to Taeyong.

“Taeyong, we need to get out of here.” There’s an edge of panic in his voice and Taeyong wants to stand, wants to move and get away from the harsh, all too familiar noises of guns, but finds himself paralyzed.

“Taeyong, we need to move!” Jaehyun’s voice sharp, urgent, snapping Taeyong out of his trance.

He stands and barely registers when Jaehyun clasps his hand around Taeyong’s wrist again, leading him out from behind the counter. Numbly, Taeyong lets himself be handled by Jaehyun, eyes flickering to the three masked figures sprawled on the living room floor, dark blood trickling from their bodies, looking away when a strong wave of nausea hits him.

Jaehyun lets go of him when they step into the hallway, and another wave of pure anxiety washes over Taeyong as they step carefully over the bodies of Jaehyun’s bodyguards. Instinctively, he reaches for Jaehyun, fingers linking tightly with his. Jaehyun glances down briefly at their hands but doesn’t say anything.

“There will probably be more downstairs,” Jaehyun keeps his volume low, lowering his gun just slightly, eyes darting from the stairs on one side of the hallway to the elevator on the other.

“Stairs are safer,” he says, grip tightening on Taeyong’s hand, leading him towards the marked door that leads to the stairs.

Taeyong doesn’t say reply or object mostly because his mouth feels dry and his throat feels so tight that he can’t breathe so he reluctantly lets go of Jaehyun’s hand and they cautiously make their way down the stairs.

“Just stay behind me,” Jaehyun whispers, gaze locking with Taeyong’s for a moment. His eyes are hard with urgency and slight panic.

Taeyong swallows and then nods.

They manage to make it down several floors stopping instantly at the sound of a door opening at the bottom of the stairwell at the main floor. Taeyong feels his heart drop to his stomach and he nearly slams into Jaehyun’s back, not realizing that he stopped in his tracks.

“Stay here, I’m going to go down the stairs.” Jaehyun says, frown deepening, and Taeyong finds himself shaking his head almost instantly.

“Don’t,” the words tumble from his mouth, “don’t leave me, Jaehyun.”

He hasn’t fully registered what’s going on yet since his mind seems to be moving at light speed and is somehow blank at the same time but he knows Jaehyun can keep him safe. He speaks again and it comes out like a plea but he doesn’t care, “don’t leave me, please.”

Jaehyun’s frown twitches into a somewhat reassuring smile and he lowers his gun, one hand rising to Taeyong’s face, knuckles brushing gently against the highpoint of Taeyong’s cheekbone. Taeyong leans into his touch.

“Hey,” his voice is calm, “don’t worry, okay? I’m right here. I won’t leave you.”

Taeyong catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs in relief, nodding. Jaehyun stills for a moment, listening for any noises before he pulls out his phone.

“I need you to send a car, now.” He hisses into it and hangs up quickly, raising his gun once more.

His hand finds Taeyong’s wrist again and they begin to climb down the last few floors slowly. They don’t make it far, only managing to make it down one more floor before the sudden explosive sounds of several guns firing fill the air once more. Taeyong blinks his eyes shut and maneuvers his hand back into Jaehyun’s.

He begins to count to ten.

_1, 2, 3 –_

He’s aware that his grip is deathly tight, almost too tight to not be distracting, but he doesn’t dare let go and thankfully, Jaehyun doesn’t pull his hand away.

_4, 5, 6, 7 –_

The sound of a gun firing is closer to him now, earsplitting and loud and it sends a shiver down Taeyong’s spine. He figures it’s Jaehyun’s gun but he doesn’t open his eyes to look. Bile rises in the back of his throat and Taeyong fights back the way his stomach rolls painfully, ears ringing almost painfully at every gunshot.

_8, 9, 10 –_

He can make out the faint thump of bodies dropping against the stairwell as Jaehyun picks up the pace and leads them down the remainder of the stairs. He stumbles several times and his foot hits something soft and solid and _warm_ but he doesn’t dare open his eyes.

Reluctantly, Taeyong opens his eyes when they stop at the base of the stairwell to see Jaehyun peering over the small glass window of the door, eyes scanning the lobby. Taeyong follows his line of sight to the entrance of the apartment building at least thirty feet away. There’s only two masked figures in the lobby, both holding guns and guarding the main entrance. Taeyong’s eyes dart back to Jaehyun who frowns tightly and meets his gaze.

“Taeyong,” he says, “I’m going to step out,” his eyes are hard and anxious yet he keeps his tone steady, “just stay behind this door and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?”

Taeyong nods, dazed.

“Don’t come out until I come get you.” He repeats and then releases his hand from Taeyong’s iron grip.

Jaehyun opens the door quietly and just enough to slip out and Taeyong wants to look through the small glass window of the door, wants to see what’s happening, see if Jaehyun is _okay_. Instead, he slides down to the base of the door and presses his cheek against it, squeezing his eyes shut until his vision swims behind his eyelids. He begins to count to ten.

_1, 2, 3 –_

The metal is cool against his skin and Taeyong can vaguely hear several gunshots and there’s silence for several seconds before the sickening crack of bone against a hard surface. If he didn’t vomit earlier, he might right now.

_4, 5, 6, 7 –_

He hesitantly rises and peers through the glass window of the door, stomach churning violently when he sees Jaehyun, blood stained hands wrapped tightly around a masked figure’s neck. Taeyong watches in horror as Jaehyun tilts the person’s head back and makes a sharp, twisting motion, snapping their neck. He lets them fall to the ground, eyes narrow, mouth pulled into a cold, tight frown and Taeyong’s gaze unwillingly wanders to the other person crumpled on the floor.

Taeyong throws himself away from the door at the sight of the person’s caved in skull and he hunches over, hands gripping his knees tightly. He can feel bile rising in his throat, and he chokes on air, heaving raggedly as nothing comes out. Taeyong’s sure his heart is going to collapse at any moment as he dry heaves for the next several seconds.

He vaguely registers the door opening behind him and though there’s familiar hands wrapping around his arm once again, Taeyong can't help but flinch almost violently.

“Hey, it’s me,” Taeyong is startled by how Jaehyun’s voice is gentle and soothing, considering he just snapped someone’s neck not even a minute ago.

“We need to move, Taeyong,” he says quietly, though his chest rises and falls erratically and he inhales sharply. Taeyong reaches for his hand once more, letting Jaehyun lead him out of the stairwell.

Jaehyun moves in long strides, almost as if he might break into a run at any second and Taeyong grips his hand tightly, stumbling behind him, though his pace doesn’t falter. He averts his gaze from the two bodies on the floor and focuses on where Jaehyun’s hand is linked with his. The air is cool outside and Taeyong is grateful for the feeling of relief against his heated skin. The sun is setting, casting warm hues across the span of the parking lot and Jaehyun abruptly halts for a moment before leading them towards a black SUV.

The second they’re inside, Taeyong finds Jaehyun’s hand again. Jaehyun shifts, just barely, close enough so that his thigh is pressed against Taeyong’s, thumb smoothing idly over Taeyong’s knuckles. His fingers are stained with dark blood and Taeyong twists his hand in his own, fingers tracing over the cuts and tears in his knuckles. His eyes flicker to Jaehyun’s face and before he can stop himself, Taeyong raises his free hand, fingertips ghosting over the bleeding gash on his jaw.

“You’re bleeding.” Taeyong’s voice is hoarse and raw and Jaehyun twitches just barely at the contact but doesn’t move away from Taeyong’s touch.

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun replies and then tilts his head and blinks, worn out.

Taeyong doesn’t miss the way Jaehyun’s face suddenly seizes up in pain and he sits up abruptly, glance falling to Jaehyun’s other arm.

“Did you get shot?” It comes out almost high pitched but Taeyong doesn’t care. A fresh wave of panic passes over him.

Jaehyun shifts again, more carefully and looks down at his own arm, as if realizing there’s a literal bullet lodged in his arm for the first time.

His mouth is pulled into a pained grimace and he laughs, rough and dry with little amusement, “I guess so.”

“How did you not notice?” Taeyong asks and uses what little strength he has left to rip through the hem of his t-shirt. He stretches the strip of fabric slightly and twists over Jaehyun’s lap, knee digging into the muscle of Jaehyun’s thigh – though Jaehyun doesn’t complain – as he wraps the makeshift bandage tightly around Jaehyun’s upper arm.

“It was just a graze,” Jaehyun mumbles and Taeyong catches his gaze, raising his eyebrow. A whole bullet trapped in the muscle of his arm isn’t just a graze.

His eyes are lidded, heavy, and something Taeyong can’t pinpoint swirls beneath the exhaustion and slight anger that swims in his eyes. Taeyong tears his eyes away and sits back down, clearing his throat.

“Are _you_ okay?” Jaehyun asks and Taeyong wants to laugh until he cries and then laugh some more because _no_ , he isn’t okay. He just watched Jaehyun murder several people in front of his eyes and what’s worse is that a part of him doesn’t care that he did. Another part of him wants to be angry with Jaehyun, indescribably angry, because if it wasn’t for Jaehyun, then Taeyong might not be in the mess he is right now. If it wasn’t for Jaehyun, Taeyong would currently be bored out of his mind at his night shift at the hospital and complaining to Yuta about his particularly bitchy patient but instead he’s shivering, lip nearly bitten through, his mind working into overdrive after almost dying. _Again_. There’s a pattern that occurs when Taeyong is around Jaehyun and it almost always involves Taeyong having a very close brush with death. But Jaehyun had protected him, had shielded Taeyong’s body with his own without a single thought, one hand rough and calloused as he fired shot after shot, his other hand wrapped tightly around Taeyong’s.

Taeyong doesn’t voice any of his thoughts and instead, he nods and moves closer to Jaehyun, closing his eyes once more. They’re driving somewhere but Taeyong doesn’t say anything, doesn’t care to object to where they’re going since he barely has the energy to open his mouth. Everything that occured after Jaehyun came home is a blur and Taeyong isn’t particularly eager to remember the sequence of events that took place so he wills his mind to quiet down, if only for a few moments. Taeyong knows he’s too close to Jaehyun right now, so close that he can see the steady rise and fall of his chest and feel the warmth of their thighs pressed together but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. He focuses on taking slow, calm breaths to bring his heart rate back down, and the feeling of Jaehyun’s hand against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed it, another jaehyun pov chapter is coming!


	7. chapter seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i know this jaehyun pov chapter is coming pretty soon, but i thought it was essential to some plot points!

The second Jaehyun steps out of the car, _NEO_ soldiers surround him. Behind him, Taeyong hesitates, one leg halfway out the car door, and Jaehyun watches as he fights the urge to shrink back into the car for a moment before he stands, shutting the car door softly behind him. The _NEO_ soldiers have guns and push closer to Jaehyun, surrounding him in a tight, protective circle. He can feel Taeyong shift behind him, can feel the way he presses himself closer to Jaehyun’s arm, fingertips grazing Jaehyun’s.

“Move!” He snaps at the soldiers, “I can walk on my own.”

They pull away, just slightly, but it’s enough for Taeyong to relax next to him and Jaehyun takes Taeyong’s hand in his, leading him to Johnny’s apartment and when they get to the door, reluctantly, Jaehyun lets go of Taeyong’s hand. The second they step inside, Johnny’s at his side, pulling Jaehyun into a slight, yet tight hug. He doesn’t even notice Taeyong, hand skimming over the gash on Jaehyun’s jaw, tilting Jaehyun’s head slightly to examine his face. Jaehyun grimaces in pain at Johnny’s tight hold on his bandaged arm, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Are you okay?” Johnny’s words leave his mouth too fast and Jaehyun doesn’t even try to tell him to slow down, “you weren’t clear on the phone, what happened?”

And when his gaze falls to Jaehyun’s arm, the frown on his face deepens and his voice drops, “Are you hurt? Did you get shot?”

“I’ll be fine,” he waves his uninjured hand with as much annoyance as he can muster, “just need to remove the bullet.”

For the first time in the past hour or so, Taeyong speaks, “I can remove it.” His voice is raspy and when Johnny’s gaze snaps to Taeyong, he shrinks behind Jaehyun further.

Jaehyun watches as Johnny’s eyes drag over Taeyong, brows furrowed, and eyes sharp and analytical.

“Who is this?” His tone is neutral.

“He's a friend.” Jaehyun replies and Johnny’s expression morphs into one of realization. Jaehyun knows he’s connected the dots about who Taeyong is – even if he only recognizes him as the man from the club, and not as the man who saved his life – but he’s too exhausted to care.

Johnny hums in acknowledgment and drags a hand through his hair, “alright,” he nods and then turns to one of the _NEO_ soldiers standing in the corner of the room, “go get some medical supplies,” he snaps, ushering him out the door.

“We need to talk in private,” Johnny says once the soldier scurries away, eyes darting to Taeyong once more.

Rightful anger and wariness simmer beneath his skin, and he doesn’t want to talk right now, doesn’t want to want sit down or calm down like he knows Johnny wants him to because all these attacks are becoming too much for him and today, being attacked in his _home_ , is the last straw.

Instead, he nods, “yeah, okay,” he replies.

He waits for Johnny to disappear down the hallway before turning to Taeyong. Taeyong looks anxious, mouth pulled into a frown, his eyes flickering around the room as he takes in the surroundings. Something painful tugs at the strings in Jaehyun’s heart at that, and he wants to reach forward and pull Taeyong close, to wrap his arms around him and shield him from everything that happened. It’s almost funny, the way his heart works, especially when it concerns Taeyong.

“Hey.”

His voice startles Taeyong so he drops it lower, “I just need to speak to my brother, okay? Just sit here, I’ll be right back.” He motions to the couch and reluctantly, Taeyong sits down without objecting.

He manages to smile somewhat, resisting the urge to take Taeyong’s hand in his once more and squeeze it in reassurance, and drifts down the hallway to Johnny’s bedroom.

Johnny’s brows are knit in concern when he sees Jaehyun enter the room, “I called Doyoung like you asked,” he pauses, “he’s on his way here now with Yixing.”

Jaehyun nods thoughtfully, “okay,” and before he can say another word, Johnny speaks again.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to meet with him?” There’s an edge of nervousness in his tone.

Jaehyun sighs, “not really, but I’ve had enough of this bullshit and I’m sick of being fucking ambushed everywhere I go.” It comes out hard but he’s past the point of controlling his tone around others.

Jaehyun knows enough about Zhang Yixing, more than he cares to admit to himself. Accountant for _CBX_ , trusted advisor of one of _CBX’s_ namesakes, Kim Minseok, reluctant mole for _NEO_ , and Jaehyun’s most recent…. partner. He doesn’t give himself time to think about that now; there are bigger and more worrisome things that require his attention right now.

He scrubs a hand over his chin, wincing when the movement sends a low, full pain shooting through his injured arm. He’s about to speak again when the hum of a low chatter from the living distracts him.

Jaehyun eyes Johnny warily and they both step out of the room. Doyoung is already situated on Johnny’s dining table, typing away rapidly on his phone, barely glancing up to meet Jaehyun’s eye.

“Long time, Jaehyun,” Yixing’s voice attracts Jaehyun’s attention. It’s soft and his gaze is penetrating.

He’s still as handsome as he was the day they met, all sharp angles and tousled, inky black hair that falls perfectly into his almond eyes, which would appear almost warm to anyone else, though Jaehyun can easily see that something cold twists under them. Jaehyun catches his gaze with neutral eyes.

“Yixing,” he greets lazily.

Yixing’s eyes fall away from Jaehyun and to Taeyong, who matches his gaze with curious eyes. When Yixing steps forward towards him, Jaehyun finds himself shifting, stepping in front of Taeyong instinctively to cover him from Yixing’s view.

“I didn’t know you had such a penchant for pretty little things.” Yixing’s tone is calm but Jaehyun can read the sneer behind it.

A sense of protectiveness curls inside Jaehyun’s chest and he fights back the scowl forming on his face.

“This isn’t a social call, Zhang.” He replies, daring Yixing to come closer, almost satisfied when Yixing doesn’t move again, “I called you on business.”

Yixing smiles at that, slight and almost bitter, “it was always business first with you, Jae, wasn’t it?” He cocks his head to the side.

Behind them, Johnny clears his throat, “let's get that bullet removed first.” He points to the _NEO_ soldier holding a white bag of supplies.

He knows he shouldn’t, but when Taeyong stands, Jaehyun wraps an arm around him, placing his hand on the small of Taeyong’s slender back. The way Yixing’s eyes flicker slightly is enough to sate the ugly feeling in Jaehyun’s throat.

The light in Johnny’s bathroom is bright, causing Taeyong to squint as he reaches into the bag, slowly pulling out the supplies.

“Hey,” Jaehyun touches Taeyong’s arm briefly, “thanks.”

Taeyong smiles weakly and shakes his head, “it’s the least I can do.”

“You need to take off the jacket,” Taeyong motions to his arm, fingers working quickly to remove the bloodied, makeshift bandage.

“Who was that?” Taeyong’s voice doesn’t betray any emotion.

“An associate,” he replies but doesn’t elaborate.

Thankfully, Taeyong doesn’t pry, though Jaehyun knows that once he’s overcome the shock of what occurred tonight, he will have questions. And Jaehyun realizes that there’s little he can tell Taeyong without putting his life in any more danger.

Jaehyun manages to slip his uninjured arm out quickly, letting Taeyong pull the sleeve off of his injured arm. It hurts when the fabric slides over the wound; Jaehyun sucks in a sharp breath and Taeyong’s brows furrow.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting the jacket drop to the bathroom floor.

Jaehyun attempts to unbutton his dress shirt, fingers fumbling clumsily against the small buttons with no luck.

“Get on the counter, so I can get a better angle,” Taeyong pats the marble sink lightly and Jaehyun obliges, using Taeyong’s shoulder as support to hoist himself up.

Taeyong’s nimble fingers are already working on the buttons on Jaehyun’s shirt and Jaehyun pries his gaze away from his hands, slim fingers stained with blood and fine wrists flickering as he undoes the buttons. Once his shirt is off, Taeyong lets it drop to the floor as well, peeling open an alcohol wipe and Jaehyun braces himself.

It stings like a bitch and Jaehyun bites his lip to stop himself from swearing, but Taeyong’s hands are gentle, wiping away flakes of dried blood with careful motions, shifting closer to get a better look at the wound. Without thinking, Jaehyun pushes his legs open slightly, letting Taeyong slot between them.

“You should be more careful,” Taeyong mumbles, breaths even and warm against Jaehyun’s shoulder as he wipes a pair of tweezers clean.

Jaehyun wants to say that he’s always careful, that he would’ve been okay, except in the moment, all he could focus on was the fact that he left Taeyong in the stairwell alone and he got distracted. He knows it was almost too easy for him to shield Taeyong from the onslaught of bullets, was almost too easy for him to take Taeyong’s hand in his and pull him close to his side so that he would be safe. It was easy when Taeyong looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes, hand trembling in Jaehyun’s, shivering body pressed against Jaehyun’s. Briefly, Jaehyun wonders if he should be concerned about how easily he put himself in danger so that Taeyong would be safe.

Instead, he laughs dryly, running a hand through his hair, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“This is going to hurt so brace yourself,” Taeyong frowns slightly, squinting to get a better view at Jaehyun’s arm.

“Hold my hand?” He teases, mouth twitching up in amusement.

To his surprise, Taeyong glances up, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a half smile. He links their free hands, thin fingers intertwining loosely with Jaehyun’s. A gentle warmth spreads from the pit of Jaehyun’s stomach, wrapping around his heart.

“Don’t move,” Taeyong says, dipping forward slightly.

They’re so close that Jaehyun can see the way Taeyong’s eyes narrow in focus, the way his mouth purses in concentration, can smell the intoxicating shampoo in his hair. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the dizzying scent and the way Taeyong’s smaller hand feels in his.

There’s a harsh, stinging pain in his arm and Jaehyun tilts his head back, taking a slow breath. He opens his eyes to Taeyong’s bare, proud smile, bullet caught in between the prongs of the tweezers. Taeyong pulls his hand out Jaehyun’s, reaching back into the bag for more supplies.

“I need to tell you something.” Taeyong’s voice is quiet as he threads a needle.

“Go on,” Jaehyun watches as he wipes down the wound once more.

“That day,” he clears his throat, “outside my apartment, there’s a lot that I didn’t tell you.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun can feel himself frown and he speaks carefully, “what is it?”

“Those men,” Taeyong pauses, “they said that they know what your plans are.”

“And they said that if you try anything, then they’ll kill me and then they’ll kill you,” the words tumble from Taeyong’s mouth, “I just wanted to tell you the whole story considering what just happened.”

“They said what?” It comes out sharper than he intends.

Taeyong stops his stitching for a moment, nervous gaze meeting Jaehyun’s, “what do you mean?”

Jaehyun takes a deep breath, “why didn’t you tell me that they threatened to kill you?”

At that, Taeyong stills. Jaehyun watches as a frown forms on his mouth and he ducks his head slightly, “I didn’t think that you would care about that.” He admits, reaching for a roll of gauze.

Jaehyun feels his mouth go dry at Taeyong’s words, the way they leave his mouth so casually. Something inside him aches because of this; Taeyong could have been _killed_ the second he stepped out of the safety of Jaehyun’s apartment and didn’t think that Jaehyun cared enough about his life to protect him.

“Taeyong, I –”

The door creaks open behind them and Johnny ducks into the bathroom, halting abruptly when he sees Taeyong slotted between Jaehyun’s legs.

“Doyoung’s getting impatient outside and he wanted to know what was taking so long,” Johnny trails off, eyes flickering between Jaehyun and Taeyong, one eyebrow rising just barely.

Taeyong clears his throat, securing the gauze on Jaehyun’s arm quickly, stepping away from Jaehyun almost immediately.

“We’re coming.” Jaehyun replies and Johnny nods once and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Taeyong shifts away, putting distance between them as his fingers skim over the wound on Jaehyun’s jaw, cleaning and bandaging it with ease. When he’s finished, he cleans up the counter with idle hands and Jaehyun attempts, poorly, to put his shirt back on.

“You really should be careful,” Taeyong clucks in annoyance, though there’s no real heat behind his words as he helps Jaehyun back into his shirt.

When he’s dressed again, Taeyong catches his Jaehyun’s eyes, “what were you saying?”

He thinks about the almost primal instinct that took over him at his apartment, the urge to curl himself around Taeyong, the way he got himself injured trying to protect Taeyong, yet Taeyong believes Jaehyun doesn’t care about whether he lives or dies. Something strange crawls up his throat, anxious and unfamiliar.

He clears his throat and shakes his head, “nothing.”

Taeyong nods thoughtfully, “okay,” he says, reaching into the bag of supplies and pulls out a bottle of painkillers, shaking two into his hand.

“Here,” he presses them into Jaehyun’s hand, fingertips ghosting over the flat of Jaehyun’s palm. He pulls away in the next breath, turning away from Jaehyun to scrub his hands clean in the sink.

Jaehyun swallows the pills and does the same, though the water is hot enough to burn his skin but he can’t find it in himself to care, eager to get rid of the blood that stains his hands.

“I’m just going to finish cleaning up,” Taeyong murmurs and Jaehyun wants to tell him that someone can take care of it but decides it’s better to leave Taeyong alone for a bit.

He nods and then ducks out of the bathroom, nearly slamming into Johnny.

“Doyoung and Yixing are in the other room,” Johnny says, nose wrinkled in concern.

“We’re just talking,” Jaehyun tries to keep the flatness out of his tone, “Yixing won’t try to kill me,” and then, with a slight curve of his mouth, “not here, at least.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Johnny punches his uninjured arm half heartedly, “he hates your guts.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jaehyun pauses, “do you think you can keep Taeyong company for a bit? He’s still in shock from what happened.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “you want me to babysit your boyfriend?”

Jaehyun frowns, “he’s not my boyfriend,” he sighs, “can you please just sit with him for a bit? He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“These are the type of things someone’s boyfriend cares about,” Johnny states matter-of-factly, but nods, “fine, I’ll keep him busy for a bit.”

Jaehyun mouths a silent thank you to Johnny, who only points out the room where Doyoung and Yixing are waiting for him.

Behind him, he can hear Taeyong’s voice as he exits the bathroom, “you’re Johnny, right?”

He doesn’t hear Johnny’s response as he steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Finally,” Doyoung says and Jaehyun notices that his mouth seems like it’s twisted into a permanent frown.

“I’m sorry, did my almost dying get in the way of your evening plans?” He retorts.

Yixing is perched on the bed in what Jaehyun guesses is one of Johnny’s spare bedrooms, gaze sharp. He stands, approaching Jaehyun, mouth curling into a smile which Jaehyun knows isn’t kind, “we’re here because Jaehyun’s little toy doesn’t know how to send messages properly.”

“If he did, then you wouldn’t be in this mess.” He continues.

A wave of anger passes over Jaehyun and he almost reacts, forcing himself to slow down only when he remembers that this is what Yixing wants. A reaction from him.

“This isn’t about him,” he replies evenly.

Yixing’s smile grows and he tilts his head, “it looks like the big bad wolf has the ability to feel after all.” His voice is cruel, edged like a sword, hard from previous wounds.

Jaehyun can feel his mouth twist into an ugly scowl and he bares his teeth slightly, “if you don’t want to talk business, then I suggest you fuck off, Zhang.”

Yixing looks satisfied with that, thin lips stretching into a grin, wide and catlike.

Doyoung clears his throat, “we have bigger things to worry about right now.”

Yixing steps away, falling back onto the bed again, crossing his legs, “you’re right.”

He pulls out his phone and is silent for a moment, typing away quickly before he tosses it down on the bed, “Minseok left for America yesterday,” he says, “Jongdae has been in America for the past month, Boss Junmyeon has something big planned for _EXO_ , but I don’t know what it is.”

Jaehyun is only barely versed in _CBX’s_ formation but he knows even little about the Boss, Kim Junmyeon, and _EXO_. Kim Junmyeon, head of the _EXO_ crime family, and one of the most powerful men in Korea, though everyone knows he prefers to handle all business from America, where _EXO_ is most present. His brothers, Kim Minseok and Kim Jongdae and his childhood friend, Byun Baekhyun, handle all business in Korea under the name of _CBX_. Rarely does Junmyeon step foot in Korea and instead, his underbosses fly out to America every few months to coordinate business. It’s almost too pretentious to Jaehyun, though he supposes they are successful for a reason.

Doyoung waves a hand in the air, “we have no use of their American activities, we need something to help us now.”

Yixing rolls his eyes, “well, Baekhyun is acting as head of _CBX_ while they’re away. He’s going to be personally handling the diamond shipment that’s arriving in three weeks.”

“How long are the other two in America?” Jaehyun asks.

Yixing shrugs, “I don’t know how long, but I don’t think they’re coming back before the month is over.”

Jaehyun processes the information and Doyoung’s eyes meet his, calculating.

“We have to hit Baekhyun.” He says finally.

Yixing’s gaze snaps up to him, eyes narrow, “you can’t _hit_ him, he’s protected at all times.”

“Logistics,” Doyoung adds, catching on to Jaehyun’s plan, “we’re not trying to kill him, that’s too much heat for _NEO_ right now.”

“We just want to scare him.” Jaehyun shrugs slightly.

“Can’t you wait until the diamond shipment docks to pull your stunt?” Yixing asks. His tone is lazy, though Jaehyun knows his eyes too well to not notice the nervousness that flickers behind them.

“ _CBX_ attacked me three fucking times and you want me to wait?” Jaehyun can feel his voice get louder and he shakes his head, “I’ll send my own soldiers to do the job, just tell me what his schedule is like for the next week, I need an opening.”

Yixing laughs humorlessly, “I think I’ve done enough for you,” he stands, smoothing a hand over the collar of his shirt, “I’m sure I’m not the only one you have on your payroll in _CBX_ , get someone else to help you.”

He strides to the door, pausing with his hand still on the knob, “and I’d be careful about your little toy, _CBX_ don't take kindly to snitches, Jae, and if they can’t get to you, then…” he trails off with a slight shrug, mouth pulling up into a pleased smile.

Jaehyun watches him leave, mouth pressed tightly together. His fingertips itching to pull Yixing back into the room and punch him in the face. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

“He just says that shit to rile you up,” Doyoung states, as if it isn’t already obvious, “and you really should be careful about your…” he pauses, “ _friend_. You really don’t want him involved in this.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jaehyun snaps.

Doyoung glares at him for a moment, frowning tightly, “I’m going to head out,” he pulls out his phone, immersing himself in typing rapidly on his phone, “I’ll see if I can get in contact with Sehun.”

He looks up momentarily, “we’ll be in touch,” he says warily, leaving Jaehyun alone in the room.

Jaehyun never intended for Taeyong to get as involved in his business as he is. Never intended for him to be caught in the crossfire of Jaehyun’s battles. He thought he helped Taeyong, then, by letting him stay with him, but instead it seems as if he’s made things worse for him. Reluctantly, he puts those thoughts in the back of his mind, pulling out his phone to make some calls. The way that Taeyong smiles, a soft, sweet pull of his lips and the way his hand, slender and fine boned, fits in Jaehyun’s own calloused one, is a distraction for him. And Jaehyun can’t afford any distractions right now, not when he has business to attend to, especially if they come in the form of Lee Taeyong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you for your support angels!  
> just to clarify, in case it wasnt clear:  
> CBX is run by jongdae, baekhyun, and minseok and can be considered a branch of the EXO crime family, which is headed by junmyeon. junmyeon is the boss of EXO, CBX included, but works from america, so j/b/m run CBX in korea under EXO  
> yixing and sehun work for the CBX but are moles for NEO.  
> hope that clears things up!


	8. chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay! so just wanted to say that this fic is about to get pretty angsty and dramatic! like i have some stuff planned but its all very dramatic and im just nervous about how im going to pull it off hehe

Taeyong wakes up to the incessant buzzing of his phone. He jolts up, not quite sure when he even fell asleep – somewhere in between midnight and three am, he thinks groggily – on what is definitely an unfamiliar bed, though he can vaguely recall Jaehyun’s soft voice urging him to just close his eyes for a bit and get some rest. He rubs half heartedly at his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath when the bright light from the screen hits him.

His heart drops from his chest to his stomach when he scans the screen.

**_6:30 pm:_ **  
_2 missed calls from Seoul General Hospital_

**_7:00 pm:_ **  
_2 missed calls from Yuta_

**_Yuta, 7:03 pm:_ **  
_hey where are you?? you’re like half an hour late._

**_Yuta, 7:03 pm:_ **  
_the NP is riding me about where you are, jungwoo needs u to take over like asap_

**_Ten, 7:30pm:_ **  
_hey are you home? where are you?_

**_7:35pm:_ **  
_4 missed calls from ten_

**_Yuta, 10:00 pm:_ **  
_im literally calling the police dude where are you_

He stops scrolling through his notifications, eyes falling on the top of the notification bar to check the damage of his negligence. Taeyong squints and grimaces; 20 missed calls and 15 text messages from Yuta and 18 missed calls and 34 text messages from Ten.

He runs a hand through his hair and dialing Yuta’s number quickly.

Yuta picks up on the first ring and his voice is hesitant, _“Taeyong?”_

“Hey, Yuta,” he braces himself for Yuta’s reaction.

 _“Holy shit, Taeyong! I’ve been calling you since last night, where are you?”_ There’s an edge of relief in his voice, which seems to be speeding up by the second, _“Are you okay? What happened? You didn’t show up to the hospital and Ten dropped by your apartment after his shift and he said you weren’t there! We were worried sick, you asshole, why didn’t you call back?”_

“Yuta, I –” he starts, but Yuta interrupts him.

 _“Are you still out of town? What happened? Is everything okay?”_ Yuta’s questions seem like a bottomless pit and Taeyong fights the grogginess in his mind, attempting poorly to try and answer them.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to say quite yet, doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that he’s holed up at another criminal’s apartment and that he’s pretty sure he can’t leave unless he wants to tempt fate to finally clock him on the third try. So he lets Yuta ramble and tries to interject a few hums in between.

 _“I almost called the police and then I remembered you’re a grown man,”_ Yuta continues, _“but I really am worried about you, Ten is, too, you know, it’s not like you to not call into work.”_

“Yuta,” Taeyong interrupts his rambling friend, trying not to let himself get too uneasy about lying to him again, “there was a family emergency and I got so caught up in it, I forgot to call in. I’m going to be out of Seoul for a week, at least.” He sighs softly for good measure.

Yuta is quiet for a moment and when he speaks, his voice is heavy with concern, _“is everything okay? What happened?”_ He asks, and Taeyong can feel the guilt beginning to ebb inside of his heart as he lies through his teeth.

“There was a death in the family,” he winces to himself, praying that he isn’t struck by the karma of lying about someone in his family dying, “I need to call the hospital to let them know I won’t be in for at least the next week.”

Yuta sighs over the speaker, _“you’re going to need me to cover some of your shifts.”_

Taeyong puts on his most sincere voice, “it’s such short notice and you know the chief nurse is going to have my head over not having someone cover at least a few days for me.” He pauses, “please, Yuta.”

Yuta is quiet for a moment, _“hey, of course I’ll cover for you,”_ His tone lightens, _“I’ll even see if I can rope Jungwoo in to cover some, too.”_

Relief floods Taeyong instantly, “thanks, I really appreciate this, I owe you.”

Yuta hums, _“it’s fine, you know, I know you need to be with family right now.”_

Taeyong blinks, “right.”

“Can you let Ten know I’m okay? I don’t want him thinking I’ve been dead in a ditch this entire time.”

Yuta laughs, a familiar, wonderful noise, and Taeyong feels his own chest lighten at the sound, _“yeah, I will. I’m just heading out of the hospital right now so call me whenever, okay?”_

“Okay,” Taeyong replies softly.

He hangs up the phone and collapses on the bed once more, sighing deeply. His skin crawls if he so much as thinks about what happened yesterday and Taeyong wants nothing more than to stand under a hot shower and scrub himself until there’s no trace of someone else’s blood and the smell of gunpowder on his skin anymore.

Instead, he dials the number for the hospital, getting ready to pull another round of lies out of his ass.

He’s barely hung up the phone on a conversation that started out with some very strong words from his supervisor and ended with her sighing sympathetically and apologizing for his loss, when his phone buzzes again.

**_Ten, 6:06 am:_ **  
_are you good? yuta just texted and said you’re out of town still :( im here for you, call whenever, ok?_

He replies to Ten’s message before tossing his phone back onto the bed beside him, letting his head drop against the pillow. He’s exhausted but he doubts he can get much more sleep until he has a chance to take a shower.

It’s too early to be awake right now but Taeyong forces himself to stand, yawning as he opens the door of the room. There’s a large, black box on the floor that Taeyong nearly trips over as he steps out. He crouches down, plucking the small, white card that’s loosely taped to the box. In neat print, it says:

_Here are some clothes and necessities for now, let Johnny know if you need anything else, he’ll take care of it._

_Jaehyun_

Curiosity gnaws at his brain and he carries it back into the room, setting it down on the bed. Taeyong takes off the lid, fingers pushing past the delicate, white tissue paper in the box. One by one, he picks up an item from the box, setting it down on the bed as he goes. A toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, body wash, and another layer of tissue which he impatiently digs past. Taeyong can feel his jaw drop at the clothes; a pair of Nike sweatpants, three Gucci shirts, a pair of black, ripped jeans, a Balenciaga sweatshirt, and two pairs of Nike sneakers.

He gapes for a moment, fingers smoothing over the soft fabric of the clothes. He has never even seen Gucci clothes in real life and he definitely doesn’t have any need for items this expensive, especially since there’s no way he can pay Jaehyun back for them. The sweatpants are the only thing he can even think about wearing but he can’t exactly walk around shirtless so Taeyong sighs, reluctantly folding the clothes as carefully as he can manage and places them all back in the box, fingertips finding the hem of the sweatshirt once more as he grabs the toothbrush and toothpaste.

He finds the bathroom easily, giving himself enough time to wash his face and brush his teeth since he doubts anyone is awake right now. He shuffles out into the kitchen, thirst and hunger gnawing painfully at his stomach, surprised to see Johnny sitting on a stool at the island, scrolling through his phone, cup of coffee in his other hand.

When Johnny sees him, he smiles, lopsided and bright with a flash of teeth, beckoning Taeyong to join him.

“Good morning,” he says as he stands, reaching for the coffee pot and pouring another cup which Taeyong assumes is for him.

“Morning,” Taeyong replies politely, gratefully accepting the warm mug.

Johnny is young, transparent in his politeness and genuine in his kindness from what Taeyong can gather, a contrast to his brother’s harder and colder demeanour. He smiles kindly and laughs freely, especially at his own jokes, which Taeyong discovered through his own, quieter giggles last night. Jaehyun disappeared after having the bullet removed and Johnny kept him company then, awkward at first, but slowly warming up through light jokes and Taeyong almost forgot about some of the events that took place. He wonders how someone so young and easy going is involved in such a elite ring of criminals, though he supposes outer appearances can only be so telling.

“Where’s Jaehyun?” Taeyong asks, taking a sip of the hot coffee. It soothes him immediately, sending liquid warmth straight into his stomach.

“He left already,” Johnny replies, “and he asked me to leave the clothes at the door for you. Feel free to wash up if you want.”

Taeyong sighs, “yeah, I got it,” he hesitates, “the clothes…” he starts, and Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“Do they fit?” He asks.

Taeyong nods quickly, “I’m sure they do,” he replies, “it’s just that they’re so,” he wonders how to phrase it without sounding as broke as he is, and promptly gives up, “expensive, and I can’t really afford to pay him back for them.”

Johnny laughs, though there is no malice behind it, “he’s not expecting you to pay him back for them.”

Taeyong frowns, “what do you mean?”

“Consider them a gift,” Johnny shrugs.

The price tags were still on the clothes when Taeyong opened the box and he’s very, very sure that people don’t hand out 680 000 won shirts as gifts. He isn’t sure of how to respond to that but luckily, Johnny’s already moving onto the next thing, pointing to the stove with a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I’m no good at cooking but I can try and make breakfast if you’re hungry.”

Taeyong almost rolls his eyes at that, what is it with the Jung men and being unable to operate a stove?

“Don’t worry, I’ll make something,” he says, already searching for a frying pan, “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” Johnny replies with another mild, embarrassed smile and Taeyong can't help but smile, too.

“Okay, can you hand me some eggs?”

Johnny obliges, taking out a carton of eggs as well as a package of bacon, setting them down on the counter. He hovers impatiently as Taeyong fries the eggs and bacon until Taeyong can feel himself get mildly annoyed and he pushes the loaf of bread in Johnny’s hands and points him to the toaster.

They eat in silence and Johnny thanks him multiple times for the meal and Taeyong can feel himself smile fondly as he waves off unnecessary compliments about how good the eggs were. He wonders, slightly amused, about how badly Johnny must be cooking eggs for him to be so enthusiastic about how Taeyong cooked his.

Back in the room, he reluctantly opens the box again, hesitant to touch the clothes again. They’re just clothes, just fabric, but every time Taeyong’s eyes dart to the price tags, he feels himself hesitate even more. Eventually, his need to scrub himself raw outweighs the expense of the clothes and he grabs the sweatpants and sweatshirt, placing them carefully on the bed before gently closing the box again, promising to himself that he won’t use the other clothes.

The water in the shower is hot, hot enough to burn his skin as it sprays down on him but he doesn’t care. He stands beneath the heavy spray for a while, shutting his eyes, hoping his mind will quiet down, but he finds his thoughts wandering almost immediately.

There’s something going on, Taeyong supposes, which everyone around him knows about except him. Especially Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t miss the way Jaehyun had slotted himself in between Taeyong and the other man – _Yixing_ , as Jaehyun called him – and the way the air was heavy between them. Yixing is tall and handsome, eyes narrow and jaw sharp, his features almost feline. Taeyong might have been still in a state of shock last night, but even he could read the tension between Jaehyun and him. There was another man there, too, with rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a look of mild disgust that seemed to be fixated permanently on his face. They both disappeared with Jaehyun down the hall and exited one by one half an hour later. Yixing had stopped for a split second, where Taeyong was sitting with Johnny on the couch, his gleaming eyes fixating on Taeyong’s for a moment, thin lips curling into a tight frown. The other man left afterwards, only pausing to make quick conversation with Johnny only, as if he didn’t even notice Taeyong was there.

Jaehyun came out last, the lines on his forehead deepening with the downturn of his lips before he ushered Taeyong into a spare bedroom, leaving him alone with only a quiet mumble of, “try and get some sleep.”

He wonders about what they talked about, wonders why Yixing threw such looks of distaste towards him, and why Jaehyun has yet to explain anything to him. Taeyong isn’t stupid; surely, he doesn’t understand the inner workings of crime families and their rivalries, he’s a _nurse_ , not a goddamn lawyer, but he knows enough to see that he’s somehow gotten himself involved, if only by association to Jaehyun.

He steps out of the shower, his skin hot and a flushed pink, sighing deeply. He’s determined to get some answers out of Jaehyun no matter what.

—

He doesn’t see Jaehyun for the next three days. Johnny told him that they would be staying with him until the heat blew off of Jaehyun so he knows that they’re supposed to be living in the same place. Somehow, when Taeyong wakes up, he’s already gone, leaving Johnny as his company until the early hours of the night. Sometimes he’s alone the whole day, determined to stay awake until Jaehyun walks through the door, though he finds himself – more often than not – asleep on the couch, Jaehyun nowhere in sight.

“Where is your brother?” Taeyong asks, the morning of the third day, frown deepening when Johnny shrugs.

“I don’t know,” Johnny replies.

“Does he not sleep? Or eat?” Taeyong can feel himself get frustrated, the anxiousness of the past few days catching up with him since the one man who can give him answers is nowhere to be found, “he’s never even in the apartment.” He says, slight hysteria rising in his throat.

His emotions have been building up inside him, bubbling ferociously inside his heart when he thinks about how easily Jaehyun becomes cold to him, as if he’s avoiding Taeyong entirely. Being stuck in the apartment for days on end, not having the courage to step foot outside because he might literally _die_ , is becoming overwhelming. Taeyong is trapped in this situation, unable to go back to his normal life, unable to go to work and meet up with his friends because he might get killed for it and Jaehyun has the _audacity_ to keep him in the dark?

Johnny shifts his gaze carefully over Taeyong’s face, “I’m sure he will be home soon,” he replies, reaching for his phone on the kitchen counter.

“I have some business to attend to,” he says, and Taeyong watches Johnny walk out the door, leaving Taeyong alone by himself once more.

It’s almost midnight when Taeyong’s stomach begins to growl after almost an entire day of being empty. After his meltdown in the morning, he crawled back into his bed and slept for most of the day. He considers just ignoring it, but there’s no one else in the apartment so there isn’t a chance of him bothering someone by making himself some food so he decides to cook something. He’s too lazy to try and find a recipe and Johnny only has basic ingredients in his fridge so Taeyong decides on bibimbap, shuffling his playlist as he begins to cook.

He’s halfway through sautéing the vegetables when he hears the door open behind him.

Taeyong begins to turn around, “Johnny, I hope you don’t mind –”

It isn’t Johnny, but Jaehyun who walks in through the door. He looks tired, eyes lidded, though he masks it in an instant. He doesn’t say anything, pouring himself a drink from the glass flask on the side table, falling back onto the couch.

Momentarily, Taeyong forgets about the vegetables in the pan, and strides towards the couch where Jaehyun is sitting.

“You’re avoiding me.” It comes out flat.

Jaehyun glances up, face straight, “it would seem so.”

“Why?”

“It’s better this way.” Jaehyun states, taking an idle sip of his drink.

Anger rises harshly in Taeyong’s throat and he takes a sharp breath, “no, it isn’t. I deserve to know what the fuck is going on, and you still haven’t explained shit to me.”

Jaehyun stands, so sudden that Taeyong doesn’t realize how close he was to the couch. He’s close enough for Taeyong to smell the smoky aroma of his cologne, familiar and dizzying, and he fights the instinct to step back.

“Do you expect me to just follow you everywhere?” Taeyong asks, feeling the anger in his heart begin to grow even more, like a flame being fanned erratically, “you are the reason I’m stuck in this apartment and the reason why I have to lie to everyone I love and you didn’t even explain what’s going on.” His voice is rising steadily and Taeyong can vaguely smell the vegetables burning behind him but he doesn’t care, not anymore.

Seeing Jaehyun after all these days, seeing the way his face is blank, almost expressionless, while Taeyong is clueless about who is attacking him and why, trapped inside the apartment with no explanation, strikes another bolt of rage into his chest. He’s been ripped from his life, from his work and his friends, for Jaehyun’s sake, and Jaehyun doesn’t even seem to care.

Silence ripples heavily between them for a moment and Jaehyun tilts his head to the side slightly, lazy gaze flickering over Taeyong’s face.

“I can’t babysit you anymore,” he states.

Taeyong’s eyes snap to Jaehyun’s face, startled.

“You,” he continues, voice even and calm, “are a problem for me, Taeyong.”

Heat crawls shamefully up Taeyong’s neck, colouring his ears and face.

_A problem._

Jaehyun says it casually, reaching for the flask to pour himself another drink and Taeyong knows his face is frozen in shock but something inside his chest splinters with _hurt_. The way Jaehyun acted like he almost cared about Taeyong, acted like he _wanted_ to protect Taeyong and now is staring at him an almost bored look on his face, sends a flare of humiliation into his throat. A problem, he says, as if he didn’t ruin Taeyong’s life since the moment Taeyong spotted him in the hallway, all those months ago. As if Taeyong didn’t almost die because of him, _twice_. There’s a painful lump lodged in his throat and for a moment, Taeyong finds it hard to speak.

He takes a slow breath, swallowing harshly, fighting back the burning heat behind his eyes. He’s sure that if he speaks, tears might begin to fall, so he walks towards the kitchen, snatching his phone off of the counter before he strides towards the door.

“Don’t,” Jaehyun warns, and for the first time, there’s an edge of emotion to his voice, "it's not safe."

Numbly, Taeyong turns the door knob, opening the door halfway. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows that his staying alive is more important than the cold, cruel words that Jaehyun throws at him. Yet, humiliation and hurt course through his veins and Taeyong is exhausted. Exhausted of being put in dangerous situations and exhausted of Jaehyun, the one person he thought he could trust to keep him safe. He doesn’t know why Jaehyun thinks of him as burden, especially since Taeyong never even wished to be involved in any of this. 

“I wish I had never met you, Jaehyun.” He says quietly, shutting the door softly behind him.

He doesn't know where he's going to go yet, he doesn't even have anything with him except his phone and the clothes on his back but he knows he needs to get far away from Jaehyun and all the trouble he's brought in Taeyong's life.

He doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it!!!! we are reaching the tipping point with jaeyong and things will dip a little before they get better! please leave me ur thoughts!


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe i had a few ways i wanted to take the fic but i chose this after debating with myself and i hope you guys are happy with the choice too!
> 
> also?? 400 kudos? i literally never even imagined that many people would read this fic let alone leave this many kudos and comments! thank you guys!

Taeyong finds himself outside Yuta’s apartment.

His mind screams at him to walk away right now, before he can involve Yuta in all of this, before he can put his friend’s life in danger, too. A part of his heart aches, though, exhausted and weary and before he can stop himself, he knocks.

It’s late, nearly two am in the morning, and he’s not even sure if Yuta is home or at the hospital, but when Yuta opens the door, eyes heavy with sleep, brilliant red hair mussed, mouth turned into a slight frown, a wave of relief washes over Taeyong.

“Taeyong?” Yuta’s voice is rough with sleep and he opens the door further.

“What’re you doing here?” Yuta barely manages to get the words out before Taeyong reaches forward and pulls him into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around Yuta’s torso.

Immediately, Yuta wraps his arms around Taeyong’s shoulders and Taeyong buries his head against Yuta’s collarbone, sucking in shaky breath. Yuta smells _familiar_ , like his cheap laundry detergent and his headache inducing cologne, and Taeyong can feel the heat begin to grow behind his eyes once again. He gives himself a moment to memorize the way Yuta smells, the way his hair tickles Taeyong’s cheek.

“What happened?” Yuta’s voice is soft, confused, and he cards a gentle hand through Taeyong’s hair.

Briefly, Taeyong focuses on his hand in his hair and the warmth of Yuta’s body against his before he pulls away from Yuta’s embrace and ducks in through the door fully, letting Yuta shut it behind them.

“Are you hungry?” Yuta asks and Taeyong is grateful that he doesn’t ask the obvious questions he undoubtedly has.

Taeyong nods and follows Yuta into his small kitchen, hoisting himself up on the counter to watch Yuta cook a package of instant ramen. They don’t speak for a few moments as Taeyong gulps down the water Yuta presses into his hand, eyes trained on the pot on the stove and the movements of Yuta’s hands.

“Go sit, Yongie,” Yuta points to the couch and smiles affectionately, one hand reaching up to squeeze Taeyong’s arm in reassurance.

Taeyong obliges and collapses on the couch, closing his heavy eyes for a moment. He doesn’t know what he’s going to tell Yuta, doesn’t know how to explain why he’s in Seoul and not mourning a family death like he said he was. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t involve Yuta in any of this.

Yuta appears from the kitchen a few minutes later with the ramen, setting it down in front of Taeyong before he takes a seat beside him, tucking his legs carefully underneath himself. He’s quiet as Taeyong eats, though Taeyong can see that his mind is moving at warp speed, his brows furrowed slightly. Taeyong eats enough for the painful hunger in his stomach to subside before he puts the bowl back on the coffee table in front of him, shifting his position so he’s facing Yuta.

He isn’t planning on telling Yuta the truth, the thought didn’t even cross his mind before, but Yuta looks at him with sleepy, curious eyes, mouth lax in a slight frown and his face is so familiar and like _home_ and Taeyong finds the words tumbling from his mouth.

He tells Yuta everything. It’s easier to put everything into words than he thought, from the day he found Jaehyun outside his apartment to a couple of hours ago, and the more he explains, the more Taeyong realizes how fucked up the last few months of his life have been. Yuta’s face morphs from shock to concern to disbelief as Taeyong speaks, one hand reaching forward to wrap tightly around Taeyong’s.

He tells Yuta about the night at the club and the day he came home to two, strange men outside his door with guns and threats that Taeyong couldn’t have ever imagined would affect his life this much. He tells Yuta about that day at Jaehyun’s apartment, the way Jaehyun had shielded Taeyong’s body with his own and then in the next breath, acted as if Taeyong was the problem in his life, and not the other way around.

He takes a deep breath when he’s finished, waiting for Yuta to absorb his words. It’s a lot; he’s barely been able to comprehend that this is his reality and if Yuta is having a harder time processing it, Taeyong can hardly blame him. Yuta’s expression is twisted into one of bewilderment and Taeyong takes his silence as a moment to speak again.

“I’m sorry for getting you involved in this, I shouldn’t have even left Johnny’s apartment, but I just couldn’t stay there anymore.” He sighs heavily, waiting for Yuta to speak.

Yuta is quiet for a few seconds, hand still tight around Taeyong’s.

He exhales slowly, “holy shit, Taeyong.”

“We have to keep Ten out of this,” Taeyong follows quickly, “I already fucked up by telling you, I can’t get him involved, too.”

Yuta nods, a little distracted as he continues to process Taeyong’s words, “okay.” He says quietly.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret for months,” Yuta says, and his face softens a little, “I wish I could’ve been there for you.”

When Taeyong doesn’t reply, Yuta continues, “I can’t even imagine what you were going through,” and he frowns again, “I’m sorry.”

Taeyong shakes his head, “you couldn’t have known.”

“But this guy, Jaehyun,” when Yuta says his name, Taeyong feels his heart sink slightly, “he seems like bad news.”

Taeyong carefully left out any and all mentions of the way Jaehyun managed to make his heartbeat pick up with his lovely, dimpled smile, the way he makes something strange, yet pleasant, rise in his chest.

He nods and Yuta speaks again, “have you considered contacting the police?” He suggests.

Taeyong stares blankly for a moment, “I can’t,” he says.

“Why not? They can probably keep that criminal away from you.”

It takes a moment for Taeyong to register that the _criminal_ Yuta is referring to is Jaehyun. It did occur to him to go to the police before but he knows he can’t take his chances. Going to the police might get him in trouble for helping Jaehyun in the first place and it might even result in the family Jaehyun works for putting out a hit on him, as if he isn’t already being hunted by their rivals.

“I can’t.” Taeyong repeats softly and Yuta’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay,” Yuta smiles tiredly, “we can talk more later, if you want, lets go to bed for now.”

He stands and reaches out to Taeyong, blinking sleepily. Taeyong takes his hand, letting Yuta pull him up and off the couch. Yuta squeezes his hand before he lets go, leading Taeyong to his room.

Yuta hands him a pair of basketball shorts and a worn out t-shirt, slipping beneath the sheets while Taeyong changes. Yuta’s bed is big enough for both of them to fit and by the time Taeyong changes and gets into the bed, Yuta is asleep already. Taeyong feels himself smile; even when they were roommates during nursing school, Yuta fell asleep within minutes of hitting the bed.

It takes him a few more moments before he begins to feel tired, but Taeyong feels good, better than he has in days. He doesn’t feel so alone anymore, finding relief in the fact that Yuta now knows and that he doesn’t have to keep carrying this burden by himself. He hadn’t been alone before, either, his brain reminds him warily. Jaehyun almost had Taeyong convinced that he cared about him. _Almost_.

Taeyong pushes any thoughts of the gangster out of his mind as he turns away from Yuta’s soft snores, letting his eyes grow heavy and sleep overtake him.

He wakes up to the smell of something frying. Yuta’s apartment is small enough that any smells from the kitchen tend to waft into all the other rooms and Taeyong inhales deeply, pressing his palms against his eyes, rubbing harshly to get rid of any remainders of sleep. For a moment, Taeyong lets himself lie beneath the warmth of the sheets. His eyes flicker over the slight dent in the wall by Yuta’s closet from when a very drunk Ten stumbled and hit his head on the wall so hard that it had both Yuta and Taeyong checking worriedly for a concussion. Absently, Taeyong smiles, glad to be somewhere familiar.

He fumbles for his phone, squinting to check his notifications.

**_Jaehyun, 5:34 am:_ **  
_Text me when you get the chance._

Taeyong snorts. He considers ignoring the message all together but decides to at least let Jaehyun know that he isn’t planning on coming back. He types a response quickly before he can change his mind.

**_Taeyong, 11:03 am:_ **  
_staying with a friend, won’t be coming back to johnnys._

His phone buzzes almost immediately.

**_Jaehyun, 11:03 am:_ **  
_Not a good idea. It’s not safe._

A small strike of anger flares in his chest.

**_Taeyong, 11:04 am:_ **  
_spare me from your false sentiment._

He doesn’t wait for a response, tossing his phone back on the side table, shuffling towards the bathroom.

By the time he gets to the kitchen, Yuta is spooning rice into bowls, looking up with a bright smile when he sees Taeyong.

“Good morning,” he chirps, waving his spatula at Taeyong.

“Morning,” Taeyong replies, snatching the spatula away from Yuta, situating himself in front of the frying pan to watch the eggs.

“I have a 12 hour shift at the hospital tonight,” Yuta says, “are you sure you’ll be okay alone at home?”

“Yuta,” he starts, pausing to flip the eggs carefully, “you can’t even imagine how much I appreciate you letting me stay with you.”

Yuta waves a hand in the air absently, “shut up, Taeyong, you know you can stay for as long as you need. I just don’t want to leave you alone.”

Taeyong slides the eggs on top of the rice, shrugging, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

He doesn’t mention how frightened he really is of the idea of being alone in Yuta’s apartment for 12 hours.

Yuta’s forehead scrunches up and his mouth pulls into a concerned frown, “are you sure?”

Taeyong hands Yuta his bowl, petting his arm as he pulls away, “I’m sure, Yuta.”

Yuta doesn’t look convinced as he eats and still has the worried frown on his face when he leaves for work around five in the evening, forcing Taeyong to all but push Yuta out of the apartment, triple checking the locks once his friend is gone.

He doesn’t tell Yuta in fear of making his friend even more nervous, but Taeyong is afraid. A layer of uneasiness settles over the small apartment, clouding Taeyong’s mind with paranoia. He’s completely alone for the night and he tries not to think about all the scenarios that can occur while Yuta is at work, instead, choosing to focus his attention on deep cleaning Yuta’s apartment.

It’s a hard task, especially since Yuta only ever cleans if it’s completely necessary, but Jaehyun texts him at least two more times and Taeyong isn’t in the mood to talk so he snatches the broom out of the closet in the hallway, puts on his calming playlist, and begins to work.

He starts in the kitchen, organizing the pantry and cupboards, polishing what little cookware Yuta has before he washes all the dishes and wipes down all the counters. The living room is easier; Taeyong sways to the soothing music that echoes in the apartment, organizing Yuta’s ridiculous manga collection and dusting all of the surfaces in the room and vacuuming the entire area. By the time he moves into the bedroom, it’s almost nine in the evening and Taeyong stops his stress induced cleaning spree to eat.

And then he continues, sorting through all of the laundry – though he isn’t keen on leaving the apartment to go throw them in the washing machine in the basement of the building – and folding all of the clean clothes, changing the sheets and wiping down all the surfaces before he vacuums in there as well. Finally, Taeyong finishes up in the bathroom and collapses on the couch, exhausted.

Yuta’s apartment is small but Yuta himself is such a slob that it takes Taeyong nearly half a day to clean it from top to bottom. He’s glad for the distraction, though; he’s so busy cleaning that he doesn’t think much about anything else, especially not Jaehyun’s texts sitting heavily in his phone.

**_Jaehyun, 8:04 pm:_ **  
_Give me the address of your friend’s house in case of an emergency._

**_Jaehyun, 9:05 pm:_ **  
_I can send some men to watch over._

Taeyong hesitates, but sends the address to Yuta’s apartment anyway, though he sends several, strongly worded messages refusing any men. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, in case anything happens, Jaehyun is his best shot at staying alive.

And it's this, the way Jaehyun so offhandedly called him a problem and is now so concerned about Taeyong’s safety, which confuses him. It is a struggle to understand the way Jaehyun works, the way he acts one way and then changes his demeanour instantly, toying with Taeyong in a way that feels intentional. Is Taeyong’s life a game for him? A game he can play when he’s bored of his everyday routine?

Taeyong sighs and brushes those thoughts aside; he can’t afford to keep letting his mind wander to Jaehyun since it only serves as a source of confusion and hurt for him.

Yuta is home by seven in the morning. Taeyong wakes up the second Yuta enters the apartment, eyes flying open, his heartbeat quickening. When Yuta appears at the door of the bedroom, Taeyong feels himself relax. He collapses on the bed beside Taeyong, still in his scrubs, badge pinned to his pocket in a way Taeyong knows is digging into his skin so he yawns blearily, shaking Yuta awake.

“Change your clothes, stupid,” he mumbles as he stands, hurrying into the kitchen to grab Yuta a piece of fruit before his friend falls asleep again.

Yuta’s muttering something about his piece of shit patient as he half heartedly eats the banana Taeyong hands him, eyes lidded. He slips into a loose shirt and sweatpants before he crawls back in bed, asleep within moments.

Taeyong slides beneath the sheets, too, and turns away from Yuta, falling asleep once again.

The next two days go by similarly, with Yuta asking Taeyong if he’ll be okay alone with a worried crease in his forehead as he leaves for work, coming back in the early morning with more complaints about his patients. Taeyong cooks for them and cleans as much of the small apartment as he can, and even begins to read one of the manga series Yuta is collecting in order to quell the restlessness that is growing from being inside all day and to combat his anxiety about anything happening to Yuta while he’s out of the apartment.

Jaehyun texts him at least once a day and Taeyong doesn’t reply to them. It’s what the asshole deserves, he thinks bitterly.

On the third day, over breakfast, Yuta beams, “I have four days off now,” he waves his spoon in the air, “we can finally hang out.”

Taeyong finds himself smiling as well, trying not to let the utter relief show on his face. Yuta being off work means that Taeyong doesn’t have to spend most of his time thinking about whether or not he’s safe. He doesn’t dare tell Yuta about how much he worries for his safety, though, leaving those heavy thoughts in the privacy of his mind. Instead, he packs Yuta’s lunch, pressing it into his hands as Yuta puts on his shoes at the door.

“Can I have a kiss, too?” Yuta teases and Taeyong slaps his arm, rolling his eyes.

“This is why I don’t do nice things for you.” Taeyong scoffs and Yuta grins, tipping forward to press a sloppy kiss to Taeyong’s cheek, ducking through the door quickly to avoid another hit.

There isn’t much for him to do once Yuta is gone; the apartment is spotless – “clean enough to eat off the floor,” Yuta remarked – and he doesn’t have the chance to cook anything new, though he has an entire list of recipes he wants to try, since Yuta still needs to grocery shop. He notes in the back of his mind that he needs to write a grocery list so that they don’t starve.

Taeyong picks his way through the Naruto manga, stopping halfway to start watching the anime on his phone. He binge watches until it’s almost one am in the morning and drifts off on the couch, his phone still in his hand.

He wakes up abruptly.

Taeyong isn’t sure if he imagined the small thump coming from down the hallway, but he stands carefully, heart hammering wildly against his chest. His eyes dart towards the clock on the oven, squinting in order to read the time.

It’s nearly six in the morning.

He’s always been a light sleeper but lately, with everything happening, he’s become even more paranoid, waking up at the slightest of sounds, even if it’s just Yuta shifting in his sleep.

Taeyong swallows back the lump of anxiety that grows in his throat, hand shaking as he reaches for his phone in between the couch cushions.

He had left the window in Yuta’s room open because the muggy heat that had permeated the Seoul air these past few days caused the apartment to grow humid and he doesn’t remember if he closed it or not. Taeyong feels his fingertips grow cold, a heavy, strange feeling growing almost instantly inside his chest. Yuta’s apartment is on the second floor, he remembers dizzily, and the building is old, made of rough, textured brick. Ten used to joke that because it was so easy to scale the side of the building, Yuta would be robbed of what little he owns if he left his window open too long.

Taeyong wants to throw up.

He can’t _breathe_ , choking on the still air around him as he slides back behind the couch, fingers trembling so hard he’s sure he might drop his phone, dialling Yuta’s number. It’s dead silent in the apartment but Taeyong can't shake the feeling of uneasiness that settles in his stomach.

Waves of nausea and panic wash over him when the call goes to voicemail and Taeyong struggles to hold his phone steady as he dials Jaehyun’s number. His chest burns but Taeyong doesn’t dare a breath, too frightened to make a single noise.

It rings three times and Jaehyun picks up.

_“Taeyong?”_

His voice is soft and so unbelievably familiar that Taeyong forces himself not to let out a sob of relief.

His own voice quivers when he speaks, “I think there’s someone in the apartment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaehyun pov ch coming!! i hope you guys liked it!


	10. chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a lot shorter than the usual word count but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
> 
> also!! i made a twitter and curiouscat so please dont hesitate to reach me there!

Jaehyun feels like his heart might crawl out of his throat.

Taeyong’s voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, crackling on the phone speaker.

“Stay on the phone with me, Taeyong,” Jaehyun says steadily, “I’m coming to get you, okay?”

_“Jaehyun, I –”_

The call cuts abruptly and Jaehyun curses under his breath, scrambling to call Taeyong back. It goes to voicemail. Jaehyun paces the living room for a moment, snatching his gun off of the coffee table, cutting through the door quickly. He stops only when he hears one of the soldiers posted outside of the apartment, speak.

“Sir, let me call your driver.” He says and Jaehyun shakes his head.

“There’s no time,” he mumbles and when one of them steps forward to follow him, Jaehyun pulls his gun out.

“Let me come, sir, for your safety –”

“Don’t,” Jaehyun says, his voice eerily calm, “no one follow me.”

“But, sir, your brother –”

“No one follow me.” He repeats sharply.

There isn’t any time to wait for his driver, no time to waste when Jaehyun felt the terror in Taeyong’s voice shoot straight from the phone speaker and into his chest. No time to waste when Jaehyun remembers that Taeyong is alone and in _danger_.

He’s aware that he’s speeding; the car skids dangerously when Jaehyun accelerates, the rubber screeching against the asphalt of the road but he can’t find it in himself to care, his knuckles white against the wheel as he follows the GPS to the address Taeyong sent him before. Liquid, hot guilt simmers in his veins, clawing violently against them. Like clockwork, Jaehyun thinks humourlessly, Taeyong is in trouble, _again_. Like clockwork, Jaehyun is the reason Taeyong is in danger, the reason why he’s alone and this time, Jaehyun feels the very real fear that something might happen to him. Why had he pushed Taeyong away, then? Jaehyun struggles to remember his own thought process, unable to tear his focus away from _Taeyong, Taeyong, Taeyong –_

The apartment is situated in the heart of downtown and Jaehyun finds himself parking within 9 minutes of what should have been a 15 minute driving according to the GPS. His heart slams harshly against his rib cage, threatening to pump straight out of his chest as he stumbles out of the car, swiping the safety of his gun off. Just in case.

The air is warm and slightly humid and he can feel the beads of sweat begin to collect at the nape of his neck as he climbs several stairs at a time, sheer panic and adrenaline rippling like waves beneath his skin.

_If anything happens to Taeyong –_

He tears those thoughts from his mind.

The door is locked when he jiggles the doorknob so Jaehyun pulls away, shifting backwards until his back hits the wall opposite to the apartment door, gathering as much force as he can as he lunges forward, shoulder making splintering contact with the wood. The door gives under his push and Jaehyun tumbles into the apartment.

It’s dead silent inside; Jaehyun’s heavy breaths are only sound filling the empty space as he scans the living room and kitchen mechanically. It’s clean, nothing looks out of place and so, so quiet that Jaehyun wonders if he should be relieved. His eyes flicker to the dim hallway that he supposes leads to the bedroom and when Jaehyun squints slightly, he sees a figure appear from the farthest room down the hallway. Relief floods his chest when he realizes it’s Taeyong. Taeyong takes a step forward, almost as if he’s tripped over his feet and he doesn’t move again, one hand gripping the doorframe tightly, perfectly still.

“Taeyong? Holy shit,” Jaehyun breathes, tucking his gun back into his waistband as he strides across the hallway.

The more he moves closer, the more he can see Taeyong’s face, the way his eyes are lidded, mouth pulled into a tight grimace. Jaehyun’s gaze flickers over his rigid form; Taeyong is still, but looks otherwise unharmed. Sweat glistens on his forehead and Taeyong stumbles forward, into Jaehyun. Before he can stop himself, Jaehyun blinks his eyes shut in relief, wrapping his arm around Taeyong’s waist, his hand spanning over the small of his back. Taeyong gasps, pliant against him as Jaehyun’s other arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him as close as he can.

Jaehyun’s heart thuds in his chest and he sighs, “I’m sorry, Taeyong, I should have never let you leave,” the words escape his mouth easily and instinctively, Jaehyun tightens his arms around Taeyong. He’s slim, small and so unbelievably fragile in the protective circle of Jaehyun’s arms that dazedly, Jaehyun wonders why he ever pushed Taeyong out of them.

“I didn’t mean,” he hesitates, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” He mouths against the warm, damp skin on Taeyong’s temple.

He smooths his hand on Taeyong’s shoulder over the nape of his neck, letting it dip down from the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the knobs of Taeyong’s spine. Weakly, Taeyong rests one hand on Jaehyun’s hip, the other rising to rest on the back of Jaehyun’s neck. He shivers and when he breathes, it comes out jagged.

“We have to leave –”

Jaehyun feels himself go still as the tip of his finger brushes against something, something hard and cold and _metallic_ and when he follows the curve of Taeyong’s spine down a few more inches, alarms begin to blare in his mind. Jaehyun’s heart slams into the pit of his stomach and his mind begs him not to but he opens his eyes and glances over Taeyong’s shoulder.

There is a knife lodged in Taeyong’s back.

_“Jaehyun.”_

Taeyong’s voice is raspy and dry and _pained_ and he takes a slow, shaky breath, struggling to exhale. Jaehyun feels his knees go weak, his throat constricting. Taeyong is dead weight in his arms now, and though he barely weighs a thing, Jaehyun finds himself unable to hold him up.

“It _hurts_.” It comes out soft, like a shuddering whimper.

Jaehyun’s ears ring.

“Don’t speak, Taeyong,” he knows it’s his voice, knows that he is the one who is speaking and yet he can’t register it.

Jaehyun grips Taeyong’s waist tighter, holding him up so that he doesn’t collapse and Taeyong’s hand trembles against Jaehyun’s neck. His fingertips are ice cold. The hairs on the back of Jaehyun’s neck rise at the contact.

Jaehyun pulls away just slightly, a dull numbness begins to crawl through his fingers and towards his chest. Taeyong’s eyelids flutter shut and when his mouth goes lax, a wave of panic washes over Jaehyun. A steady stream of blood, dark and _wrong_ against Taeyong’s pale skin, begins to trickle from the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” his own voice is scratchy, laced with alarm, “keep your eyes open, Taeyong – _baby,_ keep your eyes open, please.”

He sucks in a breath when Taeyong opens his eyes just slightly. Bile rises in the back of his throat, hot and burning, and for a moment, Jaehyun feels completely and utterly helpless. Taeyong’s blood, warm and sticky and so, so _red_ , begins to drip down his back and Jaehyun doesn’t dare move him in fear of making the wound worse. Instead, he shifts carefully, lowering them both to the ground, his back making contact with the wall as he folds Taeyong into the crook of his legs, Taeyong’s head falling gently against his thigh.

“Keep your eyes open for me, Taeyong,” when he speaks, it comes out like a plead, “please, baby.”

He cards one hand through Taeyong’s hair, thumb stroking his temple idly. His heart drops lower every time Taeyong twitches, and lower when his eyes begin to shut once more.

It occurs to Jaehyun that he caused this. It occurs to him that he always managed to escape the consequences of his reckless actions and had never anticipated – never stopped to think – that someone else could pay the price instead. Taeyong looked confused that night, struck by Jaehyun’s words, the creases by his eyes deepening and Jaehyun could have – _should_ have stopped him from ever stepping foot out of the door. And yet, Taeyong had walked out the door and despite every warning in Jaehyun’s mind and the slight twist inside his chest, Jaehyun had watched him leave.

He snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps.

“Taeyong?”

It’s an unfamiliar voice, hesitant and quiet and Jaehyun pulls out his gun, waiting for the voice to draw closer. It belongs to a man with auburn hair, wearing blue scrubs and a messenger bag over his shoulder. Jaehyun snarls when the man steps closer, baring his teeth compulsively as he curls his leg tightly around Taeyong’s limp figure, raising his gun higher.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jaehyun’s voice is rough and harsh and the man’s eyes flicker to his gun though he gasps when he sees Taeyong, immediately dropping to his knees, two fingers falling to Taeyong’s neck. His other hand searches through his messenger bag and he pulls out a t-shirt, immediately nesting it around the knife, using the heel of his palm to apply pressure.

He looks up to face Jaehyun, “did you hurt him?” His voice cracks and his free hand rises to graze the handle of the knife.

Jaehyun doesn’t lower his gun, though he shakes his head, “no.”

The man reaches into the pocket of his scrubs, but Jaehyun tilts the gun towards him before he gets the chance to pull anything out of it.

“I need to call the police.” He says urgently, voice laced with nervousness and Jaehyun shakes his head.

“Don’t.” He says sharply and the man’s brows furrow, as if he’s debating with himself, before he hesitantly pulls his hand away from his pocket.

“Can’t you…” Jaehyun waves his gun wielding hand over the man’s scrubs, stopping abruptly when the man flinches at the careless movements, “fix it?”

“It might’ve punctured an organ and I can’t pull it out unless you want him to die right here,” the man explains worriedly, “he needs to go to a hospital.”

For several seconds, there is silence, as the man runs his hands over Taeyong’s unconscious form, scanning for any other injuries. He frowns deeply to himself, taking Taeyong’s hand in his, fingers skimming over the cold skin. Jaehyun doesn’t look away from his movements and he wants to ask what is going on, but he refrains. After another few seconds, the man sighs in relief, gently laying Taeyong’s arm back down to his side.

“Thank god the knife is still inside,” The man says and his frown dissipates, “he could’ve gone into shock.”

Jaehyun purses his lips, “what does that mean?” He looks down, brushing strands of silver streaked hair from Taeyong’s eyes.

“Lack of oxygen to the body‘s tissues,” the man explains, “it’s caused by loss of blood or low blood pressure.”

“He’s cold,” the man murmurs, “which is a sign of shock,” and then he laughs, dry and pitchy and nervous, “but Taeyong is always cold, so.”

A few seconds of silence settle between them.

“Who are you?” It’s the man who poses the question this time.

Jaehyun sighs tiredly, lowering his gun, though he doesn’t shift his protective stance around Taeyong.

“Jaehyun.” He replies simply, because even if his mind is scrambled from anxiety right now, he’s not oblivious to the fact that this man is clearly the friend Taeyong mentioned before.

The man tilts his head slightly, reaching down to carefully tap Taeyong’s cheek. Taeyong groans, a low, hoarse noise, but opens his eyes.

“Just focus on my voice, Yongie, you’re going to be okay.” The man speaks in a low, soothing, almost professional tone and Jaehyun remembers that he is wearing scrubs and is probably a nurse.

He turns his attention to Jaehyun, “I’m Taeyong’s friend…” he trails off, biting his lip as he focuses on applying pressure to Taeyong’s back, “my name is Yuta.”

“Please, let me call the police.” Yuta says softly.

Yuta reaches back into his scrub pocket and this time, Jaehyun doesn’t stop him. Carefully, Jaehyun slips out from beneath Taeyong’s weight, cradling his head while Yuta slips into his spot, taking Taeyong into his arms. Jaehyun stands, flicking the safety back on his gun and tucking it back into the waistband of his pants. His knee burns phantomly where Taeyong’s head rested.

“You should go before the police get here,” Yuta says distractedly, in a way that has Jaehyun wondering if Taeyong had told his friend about him.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask; Yuta already busy with Taeyong again, his phone free hand petting Taeyong’s hair soothingly before he gently taps Taeyong’s cheek. Taeyong shudders but thankfully, manages to open his eyes once more.

“Yongie?” He murmurs, “try to stay awake, okay? I’m here.”

He dials the number for the emergency services and for a moment, Jaehyun feels rooted where he’s standing, unable to move, unable to shift his gaze away from the sight of Taeyong, unconscious in his friend’s arms. Unless he never wants to see Taeyong again, Jaehyun knows he can’t be here when the police arrive. A small part of his heart says _no, don’t leave him again,_ and Jaehyun fights it. He tears his gaze away from Taeyong and stumbles out of the apartment and into the humid Seoul night.


	11. chapter eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a fast update but all ur comments on the last chapter motivated me so much!! and thank you to all the people who have shown interest about the fic on curiouscat! im so glad you all enjoy it!

“Just tell me who carried out the hit.”

In the car seat beside him, Yixing fixes his gaze out the window, watching the rain splatter against the glass. The gentle pitter patter of the rain doesn’t serve to soothe Jaehyun like it should; it only creates more uneasiness inside him. If Johnny’s friend at the hospital is right, then Taeyong should be getting released from the hospital today and the rain will only derail his journey home. It’s been a week of brilliantly sunny, humid weather and the day Taeyong has to step outside, it begins to rain. Jaehyun wants to laugh at himself, at his thought process, as if he can stop the rain, as if he can stop the clouds from becoming grey and heavy and releasing their sorrows down upon the world. Ruefully, he thinks that for Taeyong, he would try.

“You aren’t as smart as you look, you know?” Yixing scoffs and when he turns to face Jaehyun, his mouth is pursed, his eyes calculating, “your soldiers attacked him outside his club and you act shocked when he retaliates?”

“Baekhyun,” Jaehyun states flatly, “I know it was him who sent the hit, but I need to know who carried it out.”

Yixing waves a hand in the air, “it could have been any of the _CBX_ soldiers. I’m an accountant, Jaehyun, your boss doesn’t keep me on his payroll for every petty hit _CBX_ sends out.”

At that, anger blooms hotly inside Jaehyun’s chest. A petty hit, Yixing calls Taeyong’s life. _A petty hit,_ Yixing thinks, as if Jaehyun wouldn’t have rained hell down on _CBX_ if it had been successful. As if Jaehyun wouldn’t have made sure Baekhyun didn’t live to see the next morning if anything worse had happened. He pushes those thoughts down, burying them beneath the mountain of other thoughts he’s keeping on the backburner.

“But he pays you for useful information,” Jaehyun bites back, “and I’d say a hit on Taeyong is pretty fucking relevant.”

“To you,” Yixing replies smoothly, “I doubt your boss cares about whether your _whore_ lives or dies,” and then, almost as if Yixing sees the way rage flashes behind Jaehyun’s eyes, he smiles, vicious and patronizing, “I’m sure you would have no problems finding another one just like him on the next street corner.”

Jaehyun blinks and his vision goes red and hot and blurry and he can feel himself snarl, animalistic and rough and he swipes his gun out, pinning the barrel to Yixing’s forehead in a single, swift movement. Yixing flinches, though it only takes a split second for the fear on his face to be replaced with the same, twisted smirk as before.

“Give me one reason not to blow your useless brains out right now and here.” Jaehyun growls.

Yixing laughs, a jagged, gleeful noise, and tips forward, pressing the barrel of the gun harder against his forehead, as if he’s daring Jaehyun to kill him.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, “pull the trigger.”

When Jaehyun hesitates, he speaks again.

“Try and explain this to your boss,” Yixing hums, “try and explain why you killed his only high profile informant for the sake of a whore.”

And Jaehyun wants so badly, to pull the trigger right now and let the life drain from Yixing’s cruel, cold eyes right now and here in his car, but he thinks about what might happen after, reminding himself that once again, Yixing is able to pull a reaction from him, almost _too_ easily, like one pulls candy out of a child’s hand. Jaehyun takes a sharp breath, nostrils flaring as he exhales, and tips the gun back, letting his hand fall to his lap.

Yixing grins, catlike and victorious, “you were always one for violence and never for civility, Jaehyun.”

“Do not tempt me, Zhang,” Jaehyun replies lowly, “say those words about him again and I assure you I won’t have any civility left to spare your life.” 

“I don’t doubt that,” Yixing says and when he tilts his head, his eyes gleam.

“I’ll see you at the meeting,” Yixing reaches for the car door handle, turning to face Jaehyun, “and I’d be more careful about driving around without security, Jaehyun, you’re a very popular man.” He says, exiting the car.

Jaehyun watches as a soldier with an umbrella rushes towards Yixing and he disappears into the car parked beside Jaehyun’s. When the car has driven off, Jaehyun sinks deeper into his seat, sighing as he scrubs a hand over his chin. Outside the car, the rain continues to fall, unbeknownst to Jaehyun’s inner turmoil.

—

Anxiously, Jaehyun taps his thigh. He tries not to let the impatience show on his face, keeping his mouth straight and eyes neutral as Doyoung drones for what seems like an eternity about the incoming _CBX_ shipment. He’s never been one to pay attention during meetings but today, especially, he feels as if he’s trapped in the room with his fellow _Capos_ , unable to keep his focus on Doyoung’s words.

 _Thirty billion,_ Jaehyun reminds himself, and wills his mind to focus on the plan. His gaze flickers to the boss, who watches the erratic movements of Doyoung’s hands with intent, only turning once to murmur in Kun’s ear. Jaehyun presses his mouth together; he has never gotten along with Kun, despite their rackets – drug trafficking being Kun’s and money laundering through clubs being Jaehyun’s – demanding their cooperation. To his right, Yukhei fiddles with his pen, sipping his scotch lazily. There are very few people in the room; this operation, Jaehyun knows, requires discretion and the fewer people that are involved, the better the chances are of it being successful. Doyoung wasn’t lying when he said that it was a need-to-know basis only, Jaehyun thinks. Aside from Jaehyun, there are only five others in the room, Doyoung, Kun, Yukhei, Yixing, and the boss of the _NEO_ crime family: Taeil. Yixing looks completely unfazed, as if he’s already forgotten their interaction from the morning, choosing to focus on Doyoung’s words, index finger tracing the rim of his scotch glass. Despite a glass sitting in front of all of them, Yukhei is the only one who drinks.

“Any questions?” Doyoung pushes his glasses up his nose and scans the room.

No one speaks so Doyoung nods once, taking his seat on Jaehyun’s left. Out of the corner of his eye, Jaehyun sees Taeil stand to address them and everyone seems to sit a little straighter. Even Yukhei, not one for formalities, clears his throat and sits up.

“Thank you for taking the time out of what I hope are your very busy schedules to convene today.”

When Taeil speaks, it’s mild, polite, though everyone in this room knows better than to underestimate him. Taeil speaks quietly, but it’s always those around him who must scramble for silence, and never him raising his voice to accommodate them.

“If everything goes according to plan, we will find ourselves richer than before,” he pauses, “much, much richer,” and then he smiles, a bare, polite smile.

“We will reconvene in a few days after a successful operation.” He says and with a wave of his hand, the meeting is over.

Yixing is the first to leave, followed by Yukhei and Kun and Jaehyun trails after them, sighing in relief when he steps out of the room, eager to get to the door and to his car. He isn’t fond of being in the same room as his fellow _Capos_ , Kun and Yukhei, for too long; it’s almost always a dick measuring contest and always the chance for them to boast about the money their rackets bring in. Jaehyun isn’t above showing off the success of his clubs, either, though today everyone managed to keep it strictly business. He brushes those thoughts out of his mind; he has other concerns today.

Jaehyun steps into the car, murmuring Yuta’s address to his driver.

They arrive within 20 minutes and Jaehyun spends several moments in his seat, unmoving. Taeyong would survive, Johnny’s doctor friend had explained, the knife only grazed his diaphragm and was slowed down by Taeyong’s dorsi muscles. As long as he was diligent in keeping the stitches clean and giving himself enough bed rest, it would heal over time. Taeyong was lucky, he said. _Lucky_.

Jaehyun knows it isn’t luck that Taeyong survived. He tries not to think too much about it but he knows that if Baekhyun wanted Taeyong dead, then his body would have been cold by the time Jaehyun reached the apartment. No, Baekhyun doesn’t want Taeyong dead, Jaehyun realizes warily, not yet at least. And there can be a million reasons why Baekhyun is targeting Jaehyun personally, a million reasons for him to not have Taeyong killed yet, and Jaehyun can’t figure out a single one. The rain has stopped, Jaehyun realizes belatedly, but the ground is still wet and the sky is still grey. When Jaehyun steps out of the car, the fresh, dizzying smell of the damp earth overwhelms his senses.

Flanked by two soldiers, Jaehyun strides to the apartment, knocking twice. The door is opened by Yuta, who looks shocked, as if he wasn’t expecting to see Jaehyun again, though he replaces the look of surprise carefully with a polite smile. He opens the door wider, stepping to the side to let Jaehyun in. When his soldiers follow him, Jaehyun shakes his head sharply, raising a hand. They halt in their places.

“Stay outside,” he commands and they nod shortly, each one taking his place at either side of the door.

When the door is closed, Jaehyun takes a few more steps forward.

“How is he?” He asks, keeping his tone neutral.

Yuta’s gaze flickers down to his feet, “he’s going to be okay,” he starts, and begins to explain what Jaehyun already knows, that it only grazed an organ and that Taeyong is lucky that his attacker was inexperienced.

And though Jaehyun knows better, he says nothing.

“He’s awake,” Yuta continues hesitantly, and Jaehyun can almost see the torn look on his face, as if he’s debating whether he should let Jaehyun see Taeyong, “but he just took morphine 20 minutes ago so he might be out of it.”

Jaehyun nods in understanding, “I’ll keep my voice down,” he replies lightly and leaves Yuta alone in the living room in favour of striding towards the bedroom. His stomach churns slightly and a mix of relief and anxiety coats his tongue as he draws closer to the slightly ajar room. Relief because he can finally see Taeyong after a week of concern gnawing away at his brain and anxiety because he realizes that Taeyong might not want to see him.

Taeyong is lying on his side, one arm cushioning his head, the other scrolling through his phone. When Jaehyun opens the door, it creaks loudly, and Taeyong’s gaze snaps up to meet Jaehyun’s. For a moment, neither of them move. And then, Taeyong lets his phone fall from his hand into the sheets, and he stretches his arm out, wrist flicking to beckon Jaehyun closer.

“Help me sit, please,” he murmurs and Jaehyun obliges immediately, one hand grasping Taeyong’s hip gently, his other hand clasping around Taeyong’s. He crouches slightly and Taeyong shifts his arm out from beneath himself, palm pressing hard into the mattress, his other hand tightening around Jaehyun’s as he uses Jaehyun as support to lift himself up.

For a brief moment, his face twists in pain and he grimaces, and Jaehyun feels panic flare inside his chest. But then Taeyong smiles slightly in reassurance once he’s sitting up, patting the empty space on the bed beside him. He looks tired and _weak_ , Jaehyun realizes. His eyes are heavy and his smile is worn, and his skin is paler than it should be, the bags under his eyes darker than they should be. He looks small, slender, in his baggy t-shirt, surrounded by blankets and pillows, but he’s beautiful nonetheless, Jaehyun thinks, struck.

Carefully, Jaehyun sits beside Taeyong, opening his mouth to speak.

“Taeyong I’m –”

“I know.” Taeyong interrupts quietly, turning his head to face Jaehyun.

“No,” Jaehyun replies firmly, “this happened to you because of me. I’m sorry.”

Taeyong hesitates for a moment, taking his lower lip between his teeth – like he always does when he’s nervous, Jaehyun recalls – before he reaches forward, fingertips grazing Jaehyun’s knee as he takes Jaehyun’s hand in his smaller, weaker one, squeezing lightly. Jaehyun’s heartbeat picks up.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

 _I shouldn’t have let you leave,_ Jaehyun’s mind protests. How can Taeyong even begin to blame himself for any of this? How can Taeyong think that it’s his fault at all, as if Jaehyun isn’t the reason for all the terrible things in Taeyong’s life.

“I said terrible shit to you,” Jaehyun breathes, “I pushed you away.”

He has always been the man who gets what he wants, always on the receiving end of bumbling, nervous apologies and never the one doling them out. His rank in the syndicate doesn’t require him to carry himself with compassion. What need does he have for kindness when all he needs to bend people to his will, is his power? And yet, if Taeyong asked, Jaehyun thinks that he would get on his knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness. And he wonders if he should be startled by just how willing he is to actually do that. Seeing Taeyong like that, in pain and frightened, had awakened something inside Jaehyun. The way he stumbled into Jaehyun’s arms, the way his breaths became ragged and slowed down and for a moment, Jaehyun thought Taeyong might die in his arms. Jaehyun hopes he never experiences anything like that again.

“I was mad,” Taeyong says softly and for a moment, his eyes glaze over, out of focus, “you keep so many secrets, and I always have to pay the price.”

Jaehyun’s heart aches; an unsettling feeling of guilt washes over him when he hears Taeyong’s words. His intention was to keep Taeyong out of danger by telling him as little about Jaehyun’s world as he could. To him, the less Taeyong knew, the better. Instead, it backfired on him and his ignorance became the reason why Taeyong got hurt. How can he expect forgiveness from Taeyong after all that?

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Jaehyun murmurs, and then, before he can help it, his hand rises to graze Taeyong’s cheekbone, his thumb brushing over the lovely birthmark beneath Taeyong’s eye. Taeyong’s eyes flutter shut at that and he takes a slow breath. Something warm replaces the feeling of guilt inside his chest.

“Not right now, though,” Jaehyun marvels at the way Taeyong’s hand is still in his, steadily growing warmer from Jaehyun’s body heat, “once the morphine wears off.”

Taeyong nods once and then smiles a little, a small laugh bubbling out of his mouth, “you scared the shit out of Yuta, you know?” The end of his sentence slurs a little due to the effects of the morphine and Jaehyun smiles back.

“I wasn’t going to let a stranger come near you. I didn’t mean to scare your…” Jaehyun trails off and Taeyong raises an eyebrow, “friend.” He finishes quickly.

Jaehyun isn’t one to assume, but the way Yuta had held Taeyong was enough to raise a few questions in his mind. Taeyong seems to realize this and his cheeks flush a little at the implication, a light dusting of pink appearing on his skin and Jaehyun feels his own smile grow.

“I’ve known Yuta since nursing school,” Taeyong explains, “he’s my best friend.”

“I never –” Jaehyun feels himself get defensive, ready to explain himself but he gives up when Taeyong giggles again.

There’s a knock on the door and Yuta pokes his head in, his eyes immediately falling to their intertwined hands in Jaehyun’s lap. To Jaehyun’s surprise, Taeyong doesn’t pull away.

“Ten said he’ll be over in half an hour with takeout,” Yuta approaches the bed, fluffing the pillows, mumbling something about Taeyong’s posture, “if you’re feeling hungry by then.”

Taeyong shrugs, “I might be.”

Yuta smiles fondly and rolls his eyes when his phone vibrates, “he might as well move in for the month if he’s going to be here this often.” Yuta sighs.

Taeyong laughs again, a pretty noise. If Jaehyun could, he would spend the next hour, armed with terrible jokes, in hopes of getting him to laugh again.

“Can you lie down, please,” Yuta’s brows furrow, “I don’t want you to pull your stitches.”

Taeyong pouts but obliges, momentarily letting Jaehyun’s hand go so Yuta can help him lie down on his side. Jaehyun reaches forward instinctively to support him and Taeyong lets Jaehyun stabilize him from the front, while Yuta guides him from the back. When Yuta leaves, Jaehyun moves to get off the bed, though Taeyong’s hand circles his wrist, stopping him.

“Your friend –” Jaehyun starts and Taeyong shakes his head.

“Stay,” he murmurs and it’s quiet and slightly nervous, like he thinks Jaehyun might say no, “just a little while longer.”

The notion is laughable to him; as if Jaehyun could ever say no to Taeyong.

He nods and settles back to lie down beside Taeyong, letting Taeyong take his hand again. He turns Taeyong’s hand over in his, tracing the thin skin on the underside of his delicate wrist, swiping soothingly over the blue veins that are startlingly visible. When he looks up, he realizes how close they are. Close enough for him to count Taeyong’s lashes and see the way Taeyong’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. And if Taeyong is nervous about their proximity, he doesn’t show it.

It would be so easy for him to tip forward a few inches to connect their mouths, so easy to cup Taeyong’s angled jaw and feel the warmth of his mouth against his own. And oh, how he _wants_. Instead, he tilts his head up, pressing his lips to Taeyong’s forehead, his free hand rising to cup the back of Taeyong’s head.

When he pulls away, Taeyong doesn’t shift out of Jaehyun’s embrace, only adjusting himself so Jaehyun’s arm falls to the nape of his neck and a sense of calm washes over Jaehyun.

His hands, he knows, are rough and soaked in the blood of all those who have crossed him, calloused from handling a gun from since before he was even 18, and scarred from the violence he’s endured and caused over the years. And yet, Taeyong lets Jaehyun hold him with those hands, lets Jaehyun’s fingers intertwine with his, as if he isn’t aware of how much trouble they’ve caused.

He thinks he could love Taeyong. His hands were built for violence, but when he thinks about how soft Taeyong’s skin is beneath the pads of his fingertips, how he can use them to shield Taeyong from danger, he thinks that they weren’t meant to only serve one purpose. His hands weren’t built for love but when he thinks about Taeyong and his otherworldly smile and easy laugh, he thinks that they could learn.

 _He_ could learn.


	12. chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for all the love angels i absolutely adore interacting w u guys on twitter n cc!

“Your boyfriend is scary as hell.”

Taeyong glances up from where he’s situated on the couch, currently scrolling through Instagram, his lazy gaze meeting Yuta’s narrow one.

“He’s not scary,” he grumbles lowly, despite knowing that Jaehyun is, in fact, very scary, especially if wants to be. Taeyong is a witness to just how scary and intimidating Jaehyun really is, even if he hasn’t been the one those emotions have been directed towards for quite some time.

Yuta blinks, his mouth pressed together tightly. He’s perfectly still for one moment, his spatula stuck mid movement, rigid in his grip. Behind him, the pan sizzles erratically and Taeyong is sure that the fried rice Yuta is attempting to make is burning.

“You didn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend.” Yuta says flatly.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Taeyong mutters, his annoyance half hearted.

“Then I suppose you hold hands with every criminal who comes to visit?” Yuta purses his lips and raises his eyebrows.

Taeyong rolls his eyes, unable to stop the way an uncomfortable heat crawls up the column of his neck, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replies lightly.

He points to the stove behind Yuta with a frown, “do you mind not burning the food?” he snaps in hopes of distracting Yuta, “if getting stabbed didn’t take me out, your cooking might.”

Yuta glares but focuses his attention back on the pan.

Taeyong is glad for the silence that fills the space between them since he isn’t exactly in the mood for Yuta to psychoanalyze him today. He managed to make it out of the stuffy bedroom and into the living room today without pulling his stitches too much and Yuta had removed the final bandages today so Taeyong is determined not to let Yuta’s nosy questions ruin this milestone for him. Almost two weeks have passed since the day Taeyong woke up abruptly in the hospital and at least three days have passed since Jaehyun had last visited him.

The very first time he came, nearly a week ago, he left before Ten arrived, his fingertips leaving phantom tingles where he had touched Taeyong’s hands, his mouth leaving Taeyong with promises to come back as soon as he could and three big, burly men to watch over the apartment. Taeyong wasn’t in the position to say no to the security and even if uneasiness filled him when Jaehyun left, knowing that Yuta and him weren’t alone made him feel slightly better.

Jaehyun came once after that, holding a large bouquet of daisies in one hand – “for healing,” he said, one lovely dimple appearing when he smiled and if Taeyong wasn’t so high on painkillers, he could’ve sworn that Jaehyun’s ears were stained pink. Absently, Taeyong’s eyes wander to the slightly wilted bouquet in a vase on the kitchen counter, unable to stop the loopy smile from appearing on his face. He’s startled out of his thoughts when his phone vibrates.

**_Jaehyun, 2:04 pm:_ **  
_Is tonight okay for me to come visit?_

Taeyong can feel his heartbeat pick up slightly, his fingers paused over the keyboard. Before he gets the chance to reply, Yuta speaks up from where he’s hunched over the stove.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call Ten?” Yuta’s brows are narrow with worry, “he’ll keep you company until I get back from work.”

Yuta requested a week off to take care of Taeyong and despite his best attempts to convince Taeyong that he can stay home longer, Taeyong knows even if Yuta doesn’t mind taking more time off work, that his finances definitely will. He’s healed enough that Yuta no longer has to hover over his every movement in case of an accident and his sutures will begin to dissolve soon, so he doesn’t see any reason to make Yuta stay home with him.

His mind wanders back to Jaehyun’s unanswered text and he sighs, “Ten has enough to worry about already,” Taeyong says, “he’s leaving tomorrow and I don’t want him to spend his last night babysitting me.”

Yuta shuffles over with a steaming plate of what Taeyong is surprised to see is unburnt fried rice. He flops down beside Taeyong.

“He wouldn’t mind.”

Taeyong knows he wouldn’t. Ten, despite his bratty attitude, is a considerate friend and would happily keep Taeyong company for the night, even if he has a flight to The United States first thing in the morning for an IT convention.

“I don’t want to risk it,” Taeyong replies with a tilt of his head, “his boss is already such a dick.”

Yuta doesn’t say anything and Taeyong fiddles with his chopsticks, taking a bite of rice.

“Okay,” Yuta says hesitantly, “but you have to text me updates every hour so I know you didn’t get murdered.”

Taeyong cracks a smile at Yuta’s concern and Yuta pouts slightly, “it’s not funny, Yongie, you scared me to death.”

“I know,” Taeyong pats Yuta’s thigh with sincerity, “I’m okay now, though.”

He shovels another bite of rice into his mouth, “besides, I have my own personal security right outside.” He’s referring to the three very scary, intimidating guys currently roaming the hallway outside in an attempt to comfort Yuta, but it only makes his forehead creases deepen with worry.

“Three more criminals hanging around my apartment.” He grumbles.

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “I’ll be okay,” he replies.

Yuta doesn’t look convinced as he stands, pointing to Taeyong’s plate, “finish eating, okay? I’m going to grab some clothes for you,” he says, “shower before I leave, I don’t want to come home to you bleeding out in the shower because you popped a stitch in the shower and didn’t notice.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes in annoyance; he wants to point out that he isn’t stupid enough for such accidents but presses his lips together and does what he’s told, shovelling more rice into his mouth. When Yuta disappears into the bedroom, Taeyong texts Jaehyun back, biting back another stupid smile when Jaehyun replies back instantly. He knows Yuta will never go back to work if he finds out Jaehyun is coming to see Taeyong so he decides it’s harmless to not mention it. Yuta doesn’t trust Jaehyun, rightfully so, and Taeyong isn’t sure if he himself trusts Jaehyun, either. Not yet, at least.

It’s confusing, the way Jaehyun makes him feel. He’s apologetic – as if he’s truly sorry for the hurt he’s caused Taeyong – Taeyong knows, and the way his hands linger on Taeyong’s, the way his mouth, gentle and warm, pressed an idle kiss to Taeyong’s forehead, is genuine. There’s sincerity in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth, and though Taeyong can’t be a hundred percent sure that it’s real, a part of his heart feels like it is. Still, the rational part of his brain knows that unless Jaehyun is completely transparent with him, he can never fully trust him. Despite that, Jaehyun still has a way of making his heart beat faster. Taeyong is not one for lovesickness, not one to think too hard about his emotions, but the feeling in his chest when Jaehyun is away is something he can only describe as an ache.

He aches for Jaehyun.

Despite Yuta’s fretful frown and the nervous crease of his brow, he leaves the apartment around five in the evening to go to work.

“Call me if you need anything.” Yuta masks the concern in his voice poorly as he repeats those words for what is surely the tenth time and if Taeyong wasn’t worried about pulling his stitches, he would push Yuta out of the door himself.

Instead he nods, “I will.”

“There’s leftover rice in the fridge, okay? Eat it if you get hungry.”

Taeyong sighs, “I will.” He repeats.

And though Yuta still doesn’t look convinced about Taeyong staying alone – which Taeyong supposes he understands; he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about leaving an injured Yuta alone for nearly twelve hours with three gun wielding strangers right outside the door – he succumbs under Taeyong’s promises of texting every hour, and leaves for work.

Taeyong considers locking the door before he shuffles back to the couch but decides against it, leaving it unlocked so that Jaehyun can let himself in. He isn’t eager to get up and open the door since it means having to walk to it. Despite Yuta’s disapproval, Taeyong has already begun weaning himself off of the morphine pills, taking only one in the morning to last him the whole day, which means that even the slightest of movements send jolts of hot pain through his back muscles. And while Yuta doesn’t agree, Taeyong knows it’s best to get himself out of the habit of relying on painkillers as soon as possible. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s thirsty but he’s already halfway through getting comfortable on the couch so Taeyong decides it can wait until Jaehyun comes.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long; he’s thumbing through volume forty-five of Naruto when there’s a knock on the door.

“It’s open.” He calls out and there’s a moment of silence before the door opens and Jaehyun ducks in.

“It’s not safe to leave your door open like that.” A slight frown taints his mouth.

Taeyong smiles crookedly at the gentle worry that smooths over Jaehyun’s features, “I knew you were coming,” he replies with a shrug and then, as Jaehyun toes off his shiny leather shoes, “can you get me a glass of water, please?”

Jaehyun nods, returning from the kitchen with a glass which Taeyong takes with a grateful smile. When he lifts the glass to his lips, a dull bolt of pain springs from his back and instinctively, he blinks his eyes shut, sucking in a sharp breath.

He opens his eyes to the feeling of a warm hand settling on his shoulder, and Jaehyun’s worry knit brows. Something strange, though not unpleasant, folds between the crevices of his heart at Jaehyun’s reaction to his pain.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Jaehyun murmurs and Taeyong becomes hyper aware of how close Jaehyun is to him, how warm and weighted his hand is on Taeyong’s shoulder. Jaehyun begins to move it, rubbing soothing circles over Taeyong’s shoulder blades, the tips of his fingers brushing gently against near the edges of Taeyong’s wound. It doesn’t hurt as much as it tingles beneath Jaehyun’s careful touch, Taeyong realizes with a breath choking in his throat.

He exhales slowly and manages to nod, setting the still full glass down on the table in front of them, his thirst forgotten.

“How was….” Taeyong trails off nervously, not sure what to call Jaehyun’s line of business, “work?” He finishes dumbly.

Jaehyun smiles a little, lopsided and with a flash of teeth, “the usual,” he replies and then he stands carefully, as to not disturb Taeyong, shrugging off his suit jacket and revealing a grey dress shirt beneath it.

Taeyong tries not to gape as Jaehyun loosens one button on his collar, nimble fingers undoing his cufflinks and sleeve buttons, carelessly rolling the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows to expose pale, muscled arms. Taeyong counts several scars marring his otherwise smooth skin, some completely healed and others still new. Forcefully, he tears his gaze away before Jaehyun realizes how openly Taeyong is staring at him. A warm flush begins to colour the tips of his ears when Jaehyun settles back down next to him, sighing deeply.

“ _CBX_ has been pushing my limits.” Jaehyun says after a moment and Taeyong cocks his head to the side, curiosity building inside him.

He hadn’t pushed Jaehyun when he came to visit this past week, mostly because a part of him wanted to see if Jaehyun would be the one to initiate the conversation. He promised an explanation a week ago and has yet to give it.

“ _CBX_?” Taeyong asks hesitantly.

“They’re the ones who threatened you outside your apartment and put out the hit on you,” Jaehyun replies, turning to face Taeyong.

At the growing look of confusion on Taeyong’s face, Jaehyun leans forward, “ _CBX_ soldiers saw you with me at the club that day, which linked you to me,” his eyes drift to his lap, “I,” he pauses, “leaked some information against them and they’ve been after me since.”

“What information?”

“The mayor was on their payroll.” Jaehyun says with a crooked smile, looking pleased with himself for a moment.

Taeyong remembers the scandal, it was all over the news months ago, despite the city council’s best efforts to keep it under wraps. As a result, there was a hasty reelection to elect another mayor after public outcry.

“That was a good thing you did, exposing him for being corrupt.” Taeyong says carefully.

Jaehyun shrugs, “how good could it have been if it was for my own personal gain?”

He looks up briefly, “if I had known it would cause me this much trouble, I would never have done it.”

Faintly, Taeyong thinks, _it brought you to me._

“So that day,” Taeyong murmurs, “when I found you outside my apartment? And Johnny...” He trails off.

Jaehyun nods, “it was _CBX_ soldiers, they attacked me right outside the building,” for a moment, Jaehyun hesitates, “I never thanked you for saving mine and Johnny’s lives.”

“You did.” Taeyong replies.

It was cold, Taeyong remembers vividly, bare and cold, but a thank you nonetheless.

“Not like I should’ve.” Jaehyun says quietly and when he glances up, his gaze is unreadable, penetrating Taeyong’s shuddering heart.

Taeyong wants to ask what he means by that but he feels still, unable to move. His heartbeat picks up.

“They’ve been after me for months now and once they realized they couldn’t get to me or Johnny, they began to target you. They want to use you against me.”

Taeyong swallows, unconsciously dipping forward. He understands the implications now, of how it would look for someone like Jaehyun to be seen with someone like him. A nobody nurse and the member of one of Seoul’s most dangerous crime syndicates. And yet, a part of him wants to hear Jaehyun say it.

“Why?” He breathes.

Jaehyun doesn’t speak for several seconds, his hand, stable and warm, dropping to Taeyong’s knee. He’s so close now, the addictive scent of his cologne overwhelming Taeyong’s senses, his unwavering gaze catching Taeyong’s. Taeyong’s heart jumps to his throat, his heartbeat deafening.

“Because they know that hurting you will hurt me.”

Oh.

_Oh._

And it becomes easier for Taeyong, then, to ignore the alarms that blare in his mind, screaming about what a bad idea it would be to tip forward and kiss Jaehyun. It would be so easy to close the distance between them now, so easy to tumble forward and press his mouth to Jaehyun’s like he so desperately wants, so easy to quell the hunger inside his stomach, _dizzying_ and demanding.

They’re close now but Jaehyun’s gaze is neutral; he isn’t expecting anything from Taeyong and yet Taeyong wants to kiss him. Distractedly, he thinks about what an impulsive decision it would be and maybe a few months ago, he wouldn’t have considered himself an impulsive person but his mind drifts to everything that’s happened since then, everything he’s been through and he figures that this could hardly be considered the most impulsive thing he’s done. He wants to kiss Jaehyun, has wanted to for so long, and for the first time since he’s met Jaehyun, he’s never been so sure about something like he is about this.

He wants to kiss Jaehyun. So he does.

Taeyong shifts several inches forward and clumsily presses his mouth against Jaehyun’s. He’s surprised by how well their mouth fits together, surprised by the way Jaehyun tilts his head, his hand on Taeyong’s knee drifting higher and higher to settle on Taeyong’s hip. A bold of need strikes through Taeyong’s chest and he raises his hand, cupping the curve of Jaehyun’s jaw, unable to resist letting his thumb rest in the dip of his dimple, a breathy sigh escaping his mouth.

Jaehyun’s hand on his hip tightens and Taeyong feels dazed, unable to breathe for a moment.

A rush of adrenaline courses through his veins and in a moment of boldness, Taeyong pulls away, letting his hand drop from Jaehyun’s cheek to his shoulder, climbing into Jaehyun’s lap before he connects their mouths again. The movement sends a slight sting of pain through his back muscles but he doesn’t care, not when Jaehyun wraps his hands around Taeyong’s waist, stabilizing him as his lips move against Taeyong’s.

Their kisses don’t shift into anything heated, the press of their lips more curious than anything else. Exploratory.

Jaehyun’s fingers drift beneath Taeyong’s shirt, fingertips grazing over the dips of his waist. Taeyong shudders, hands dropping from Jaehyun’s shoulders to his chest, crumpling the fabric of Jaehyun’s shirt between his fingers. A soft whine rips through his throat before he can stop himself.

It’s overwhelming, being so close to Jaehyun. Being able to feel the heat of his mouth and the warmth of his fingertips bleeding into Taeyong’s skin. When Jaehyun’s thumbs presses into the dip of Taeyong’s spine, Taeyong gasps, back arching instinctively. The movement is a mistake, sending a sharper, more dizzying jolt of pain through Taeyong’s back and he squeezes his eyes shut, taking a shaky breath.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Jaehyun mumbles against his mouth, pulling away so quickly that Taeyong instantly misses his lips pressed against his own.

_Baby._

It’s soft and rolls off of Jaehyun’s tongue so naturally, as if he’s always called Taeyong that.

His mind reels.

Jaehyun’s hands regrettably slip out from beneath Taeyong’s shirt, shifting to rub soothingly over the tops of Taeyong’s thighs instead. Once the waves of pain pass, Taeyong slumps forward, resting his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, his chest rising and falling steadily against Jaehyun’s.

“Better?” Jaehyun asks, and Taeyong can feel his shoulders visibly relax when Taeyong nods.

He lifts his head, heat rising up the column of his throat and towards his face when he realizes how close Jaehyun’s face is to his own.

Jaehyun’s eyes flicker from Taeyong’s mouth to his eyes. His gaze is observant, though not uncomfortable and Taeyong finds that he doesn’t mind it.

“You’re beautiful.” Jaehyun murmurs.

He says it casually, his tone revealing nothing and yet the look in his eyes is so open, so tender, that Taeyong feels his breaths begin to stutter.

He kissed Jaehyun, his mind reminds him. He knows he doesn’t regret it, though. How can he? Jaehyun is looking at him with such fond eyes, his mouth still slick from being pressed against Taeyong’s and the space in his heart which should be filled with an uneasy feeling of regret is only filled with a sense of comfort and warmth.

Taeyong’s lips twinge with the need to kiss Jaehyun again, with the need to lick into Jaehyun’s mouth and taste the heat of it. His spine tingles with the need to have Jaehyun’s hands, calloused and familiar, hold him again. Jaehyun doesn’t move under Taeyong, as if he’s waiting for Taeyong to make the next move. He doesn’t speak when Taeyong hesitantly dips forward again, though when their lips touch, Taeyong can feel Jaehyun’s smile broaden against his own lips. Jaehyun tilts his head back and lets Taeyong kiss him again and again and again.


	13. chapter thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh we are reaching the end of this fic omg i cant believe it

It’s sometime after midnight when Jaehyun realizes he’s running late. He’s supposed to be with Doyoung right now at club _Flora_ so they can track their soldiers and the _CBX_ shipment but instead, he’s laying in bed with Taeyong – who, at some point in the night, Jaehyun carried to bed after his muffled complaints of his back getting sore from being on the couch – fast asleep against his chest.

In his sleep, Taeyong shifts closer, his arm around Jaehyun’s torso tightening slightly, his eyelashes fluttering gently, his pretty mouth slack and Jaehyun’s sure his heart swells several sizes in his chest. Taeyong is beautiful; it isn’t a revelation to him since he’s thought Taeyong was beautiful from the moment he met him, the day Taeyong had taken him to his apartment and Jaehyun had woken up confused and surprisingly alive to a small, softly snoring body curled on the armchair across him. But here, wrapped around Jaehyun’s body, his breaths coming slowly and evenly, his head resting against Jaehyun’s chest, he’s more beautiful than Jaehyun remembers. Beautiful in the way the moon is, a shining, enthralling beacon of light in the midst of darkness but at the same time, unearthly and intangible. And yet, Jaehyun thinks, amazed, he’s here in Jaehyun’s arms, his body a warm, comforting weight against Jaehyun’s and so, _so_ , very tangible.

Jaehyun cards a hand through Taeyong’s hair, silver streaked locks glinting in the dimness of the room. For a moment, Jaehyun’s breaths catch in his throat. If he could, he would ingrain his image of Taeyong in his mind forever. His phone vibrates angrily and Jaehyun tears his gaze away from Taeyong.

“It’s Jaehyun.” He mumbles quietly when the call connects.

 _“Why are you whispering – nevermind, where are you?”_ The impatience in Doyoung’s tone isn’t hidden very well and Jaehyun can almost imagine the tight crinkle of his eyes and his hard frown.

“I can’t make it to the club,” he replies, glancing towards Taeyong, who is still asleep against Jaehyun’s chest, “I’m occupied right now.”

 _“Even Yukhei made it to the club.”_ Doyoung hisses.

“Keep me on the phone, okay?” Jaehyun suggests.

_“Are you sure you can’t make it?”_

“I can’t,” Jaehyun replies firmly, “I have other business to handle right now.”

Jaehyun stills when Taeyong stirs against him, lifting his head off of Jaehyun’s chest.

“Jaehyun?” His voice is soft, slurred with sleep.

Jaehyun mutes the phone, “I’m here,” he soothes, running a gentle hand over Taeyong’s cheek.

He begins to detangle his limbs from Taeyong’s, sliding his leg out from under Taeyong’s, phone balanced dangerously between his ear and shoulder.

“Are you leaving?” Taeyong’s hand wraps lightly around his wrist and he sits up, wincing a little when the hasty movements pull his stitches.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jaehyun feels himself frown at Taeyong’s careless movements, “lie back down.”

Taeyong obliges, though his brows are knit with worry, one hand rising to rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“I’m not leaving, my love,” Jaehyun assures, “I just have some business to take care of.”

He maneuvers his wrist out of Taeyong’s grasp, intertwining their fingers instead. He squeezes lightly.

“Go back to sleep,” Jaehyun says, “I’ll be right outside in the living room.”

Taeyong looks unsure for a moment so Jaehyun dips down, pressing a kiss to his pillow creased cheek. When he pulls away, Taeyong smiles shyly, the kind that looks too lovely and gentle to be directed towards a man like Jaehyun. Still, his chest tightens. Taeyong curls back up beneath the sheets and Jaehyun slips out of the bedroom, unmuting the phone as he shuffles into the living room, collapsing on the couch. He could really use a drink right now.

“Is the boss there?” He asks.

 _“No,”_ Doyoung replies with a sigh, _“he left for China this morning.”_

“The day of the shipment?”

Doyoung huffs defensively over the phone, always the bootlicker, and replies, _“he has business to take care off. And technically, he left you in charge of the shipment but seeing as you also have business to take care of, Kun’s taking over.”_

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. He’s never liked Kun.

“Kun’s a greedy asshole, I bet he pissed his pants in excitement when I didn’t show up,” Jaehyun settles back into the couch, “how’s it going over there?”

Doyoung is silent for a moment, _“Yukhei is being unhelpful like always and it’s been half an hour since Kun gave Hendery the go to move on the shipment.”_

“Jaehyun?”

Taeyong’s voice is soft and Jaehyun turns to find Taeyong standing by the kitchen, a small yawn making its way out of his mouth. He mutes the phone and beckons for Taeyong to come closer. He does, shuffling slowly towards the couch, eyes lidded with exhaustion, hair ruffled.

“Couldn’t sleep after you left.” Taeyong admits and ducks his head slightly, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. He carefully sits down on the couch, folding his legs under himself, leaning against Jaehyun.

Jaehyun smiles, a small warmth spreading inside his stomach at Taeyong's words. He nods, letting Taeyong shift once more until his head falls into Jaehyun’s lap, his legs curling up against the arm of the couch. Once Taeyong is situated, Jaehyun lets his hand wander into Taeyong’s hair, fingertips gently scratching over the base of his neck. He unmutes the call.

“Have you heard from Hendery yet?” He asks Doyoung.

_“No, not yet.”_

Silence fills the air around Jaehyun.

Hesitantly, “Baekhyun is there, right?”

 _“He should be,”_ Doyoung replies, though his tone is suspicious, _“why?”_

Jaehyun shrugs to himself, “the soldiers are already there,” he starts, “it’ll get messy and it’s a good opportunity to take him out.”

_“You can’t be serious.”_

“Relax, it’s not a formal hit, I’m just putting it out there just in case Hendery has an opportunity.”

Jaehyun’s gaze wanders to Taeyong, to his lovely face, the small dip of his birthmark beneath his eye. There was pain in those eyes before, the kind that was easily preventable and Jaehyun remembers it vividly.

“ _It hurts,”_ he whispered, hand trembling where he held Jaehyun loosely.

He doubts he can remove the image of Taeyong collapsing in his arms, the way Taeyong’s mouth twisted in pain as he took slow, shuddering breaths. The way his eyes fluttered shut every few minutes, sending sharp jolts of panic through Jaehyun’s chest when he realized Taeyong might not open them again. There’s little he wouldn’t do to make sure it never taints Taeyong’s life again.

“Give Hendery the orders,” Jaehyun ignores Doyoung’s shock, “tell him to take care of it.”

Doyoung sighs loudly and the phone speaker crackles, _“I don’t think it’s a good idea –”_

“Just give the order.” Jaehyun interrupts, blinking his eyes shut.

The beginning of a headache is starting to form in his temples and he can really use a good, strong scotch right now, considering it’s only one in the morning and he’s going to be awake for a while. Jaehyun sighs tiredly.

Taeyong’s asleep again, his breathing evening out as his chest rises and falls steadily, so Jaehyun carefully shifts out from beneath him, phone still in hand as he makes his way towards the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets to find anything with even the smallest alcohol content in it.

It’s going to be a _long_ night.

—

For the third time since he’s arrived, Jaehyun carefully pushes a woman out of his lap. She’s pretty, with a dark, shiny curtain of hair that swishes with the sway of her hips and heavily lined eyes and doesn’t seem to mind too much when Jaehyun shakes his head at her advances. He watches as she saunters towards Yukhei instead, who welcomes her with an eager hand on her waist.

It doesn’t occur to him how long he’s been sitting in the VIP section of _Flora_ , nursing his drink until Jaehyun takes a sip of his whiskey, frowning to himself when he realizes it’s warm. Jaehyun sets it down and beckons for the server to bring another drink. Jaehyun scans the club from where he’s situated, grimacing at the particularly earsplitting bass that’s booming through the space. It never fails to surprise others when they find out that despite Jaehyun’s racket being laundering through clubs, he rarely steps foot into them unless it’s for business. He’s never been one for the hot, tight confines of clubs and the neon lights and sticky floors and blaring music only serve to create tension and headaches for him.

Stealing the diamond shipment had been a success too good not to celebrate and so Jaehyun finds himself at Flora just after midnight. And though Hendery could not even reach Baekhyun before _CBX_ soldiers surrounded him and he escaped, Jaehyun still considers their mission a success. He tries not to think too hard about it; he hadn’t expected Hendery to get to Baekhyun but a part of him had hoped that perhaps he could be free from _CBX_ soon. That Taeyong could be free. Still, he can’t bring himself to mind too much, considering the diamonds were secure with _NEO_ now and everything had gone according to plan.

 _Soon,_ he reminds himself, _it’ll be taken care of soon,_ and then plasters a half smile on his face when Doyoung approaches him, two glasses of scotch in hand.

“Never one for celebrations, were you?” Doyoung sits down beside him, leaning in to speak so that he can be heard over the roaring music and yells of _NEO_ soldiers celebrating their success.

Jaehyun shrugs, “I’m going to head out,” he says and plucks the glass from Doyoung’s hand, taking a liberal sip.

He stands, smoothing the creases that have formed on his dress pants. Doyoung only shrugs and settles back into his seat, tipping the remainder of his drink into his mouth. Jaehyun ducks out of the back exit of the club with two soldiers, mumbling Yuta’s address to his driver once he’s in the car.

It’s become a routine for him now, escaping boring meetings and work commitments to find refuge with Taeyong at the end of the day. And Taeyong doesn’t make it any easier, arms wrapping easily around Jaehyun’s waist, head tucking beneath Jaehyun’s chin softly, making it impossible for Jaehyun to stay away.

“Stay outside,” he orders the two soldiers flanking him once he reaches the apartment door.

He doesn’t really need to say this to them anymore, considering he’s been to Yuta’s apartment so often that they know not to follow him inside but he does, just in case. They nod obediently.

When Taeyong opens the door, he smiles – so brilliantly that the sun, Jaehyun thinks, should envy it – his wide eyes glimmering as he opens the door further, letting Jaehyun step in. The second the door is closed, Taeyong steps closer shyly. This is the part of their routine that doesn’t get old, no matter how many times it happens. Taeyong tilts up on his tiptoes and hesitantly presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth, as if Jaehyun might push him away, though it only takes a brief second before he gains confidence and kisses Jaehyun fully, arms wrapped loosely around Jaehyun’s waist.

When they pull away, Taeyong tucks his head beneath Jaehyun’s chin, his breathing warm and slow against Jaehyun’s collarbone.

“Missed you,” he mumbles and Jaehyun’s heartbeat speeds up, a gentle warmth swelling inside his chest.

“I’m here, my love.” He replies, one hand rising to the base of Taeyong’s neck, brushing idly through the hair at the nape.

“The doctor said the sutures should begin to dissolve soon,” Taeyong says excitedly the second they part, shutting the door behind Jaehyun, “I’m clear for light physical activity and the doctor recommended I start doing some exercise.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, unable to stop the way his eyes drag over Taeyong’s form, “I’m sure that can be arranged.” He bites back a satisfied smirk when Taeyong flushes deeply, his eyes flickering to the ground as a lovely red begins to colour the pale column of his throat.

Jaehyun laughs a little and follows Taeyong to the couch, shrugging off his jacket as he takes a seat beside him. When Taeyong gets up, heading towards the kitchen, Jaehyun pulls his gun out of the waistband of his pants, carefully placing it beneath the folds of his jacket, hiding it from Taeyong’s view. Guns, just like his soldiers, who are currently situated outside the apartment, make Taeyong uncomfortable. Even if the other never voices his discomfort, the look in his eyes when Jaehyun had once pulled out his gun from his waistband was enough for Jaehyun to realize.

Taeyong reappears from the kitchen holding a soup ladle, “I made kimchi stew,” he says with a slight, shy twitch of his mouth upwards, “if you’re hungry?”

Jaehyun isn’t really hungry but there’s an almost hopeful look in Taeyong’s eyes and kimchi stew means Taeyong must be feeling good enough to cook so he nods, “starving.” He replies.

And Taeyong’s smile seems to light up a little so Jaehyun figures he could definitely eat some stew if it makes Taeyong smile like that. He watches, amused, as Taeyong ducks back into the kitchen quickly, returning with a steaming bowl.

“Is Yuta here?” Jaehyun asks once Taeyong settles down beside him.

Taeyong shakes his head, “he’s at the hospital right now.”

Jaehyun nods, carefully taking a sip of the hot stew. It’s delicious and fills his stomach with warmth and comfort and even though he isn’t hungry, Jaehyun takes another sip and smiles at Taeyong in reassurance. And somehow, as if it were even possible, Taeyong’s smile lights up even more.

Jaehyun puts the bowl back down on the table in front of them, turning to Taeyong. He keeps his facial expression neutral though his heartbeat quickens.

“I think you should come stay with me.”

Taeyong blinks owlishly and Jaehyun takes his silence as a chance to elaborate.

“I have my own apartment now and it would be much safer for you to stay there. The security would be better and I’d feel better knowing you’re with me.”

The words rush from his mouth. He’s wanted to ask Taeyong to move back in with him the very first day he visited him, though he held his tongue back then, choosing to wait until Taeyong was healthier before he asked. It doesn’t sit right with him, having to leave Taeyong alone, especially after what happened. Every time he walks out of Yuta’s apartment, the small ball of anxiety in his stomach grows larger and larger, gnawing painfully at his insides, dying only when he visits Taeyong. The thought of not having Taeyong by his side, especially since he’s well aware of what might happen to him because of Jaehyun, is unsettling. _Never again,_ he thinks.

Taeyong frowns a little, “what about Yuta?”

“I’ll order some soldiers to stay here and keep an eye on him,” he says quickly, “Yuta will be safe.”

Taeyong bites his lip, his brows furrowing, “I don’t know, Jaehyun,” he sighs, frown deepening, “it wasn’t exactly safe the last time either.”

Jaehyun remembers. The splintering of the door, the masked assailants. The tight hold of Taeyong’s hand, his fingertips cold and quivering.

Jaehyun is silent for a moment, “I’m going to make sure _CBX_ can’t hurt you anymore.”

He intertwines their fingers, enveloping Taeyong’s smaller hand in his own.

Taeyong looks up, his tired, anxious eyes flickering to Jaehyun’s, “how?”

“How can you make sure they won’t kill me?”

The question pains Jaehyun, jolting him to his core.

“I’ll take care of it, my love, you don’t need to worry about that anymore.” He keeps his tone soft, “just say you’ll come stay with me.”

A heavy silence settles between them for a few moments and Jaehyun can almost see the gears turning inside Taeyong’s mind. Several more seconds pass before Taeyong squeezes Jaehyun’s hand.

“Okay,” he says with a tilt of his head, “I trust you.”

It’s open and honest in a way that is so characteristically Taeyong. Jaehyun exhales slowly. He dips forward, mouthing a soft kiss to Taeyong’s forehead. He wonders if it’s a mistake for Taeyong to trust him like this so easily. _It wasn’t easy,_ a small part of his brain reminds him. And it wasn’t. With everything Taeyong had been through, Jaehyun doubted Taeyong could ever trust him, doubted they could ever reach this point. And yet, Taeyong’s eyes are genuine and hold no malice, no hatred towards Jaehyun and the thought of Taeyong trusting him so openly makes his heart ache with the need to prove that it’s the right decision. With the need to prove Taeyong isn’t making a mistake by putting his life in Jaehyun’s hands again.

Taeyong falls asleep against him on the couch, a half eaten bowl of kimchi stew sitting in front of them. Jaehyun smiles fondly at the sight, carefully tucking Taeyong into his arms and carrying him to the bedroom. Once Taeyong is comfortable up beneath the sheets, Jaehyun slips out of the bedroom quietly, shutting the door behind him. He dials his underboss’ number.

 _“Boss?”_ Jaemin’s voice is rough with sleep when he picks up the phone.

“Jaemin,” Jaehyun clears his throat, “I need you to do something.”

 Jaemin’s voice gets clearer, _“what did you need, boss?”_

“I need you to put out a hit for me.”

There is silence on the line for a moment, which Jaehyun knows is because Jaemin is struggling to process his words. Jaehyun isn’t one to put out hits on others, especially for himself, since he’s always been known for handling matters without the need for bloodshed.

_“For who?”_

Jaehyun considers this for a moment, considers what he’s about to ask. He can’t take it back once he says it, he knows, but it only takes his mind drifting towards Taeyong’s pain struck face and suddenly, it becomes easy for him to say the words. _For Taeyong,_ he reminds himself.

_For Taeyong._

“Byun Baekhyun of _CBX_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on twt and cc to watch me ramble about my fics and yell about yuta!


	14. chapter fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont look at me........... warning for choking ahead rip....

Taeyong frowns, wiping messily at the steam that built on the bathroom mirror during his shower. He turns away from it, angling his head awkwardly so he can see his back in the mirror, unable to stop a smile from appearing on his face when he sees that the last of his sutures have dissolved, leaving behind a shiny, pink scar that is several inches long. It’s bigger than he expected, a little wider and longer than he imagined it, the skin around it puckered and pale, though he isn’t too worried, since scars shrink over time. Satisfied, he inhales slowly, taking in the steamy air that has accumulated in the bathroom, quickly changing into a loose t-shirt and jeans.

He towels his hair lazily as he exits the bathroom, heading towards the kitchen.

It has only been a week since he moved into Jaehyun’s new place, an apartment even bigger and emptier than his old one. As he expected, there isn’t much to do around here except cook, scroll through his phone for hours and take long naps, which is relaxing but is slowly beginning to instill a sense of restlessness inside him. At least at Yuta’s apartment, he had hours worth of manga to filter through. Things have changed drastically in the past few months and Taeyong can’t be sure if it’s for the better or not. Shifting in and out of places in order to stay alive and not having a stable home or routine isn’t something he imagined for himself. His life wasn’t particularly interesting before, nothing he misses, yet Taeyong craves the normalcy and familiarity of it, craves the normalcy of having to go to work and complaining to Yuta about his patients and the head nurse.

Yuta flat out refused to let Taeyong move out, mouth pressed tightly together and his brows narrowed, matching the glare in his eyes.

“Absolutely not, the meds have gone to your head right? Is that why you want to willingly move back in with a criminal?” He asked, shaking his head.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, mom.” Taeyong scoffed back to which Yuta snorted.

“Oh? Should we recap the past month?” Yuta raises a hand and begins to list off points.

“Got stabbed, almost died, and had to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance, am I missing anything?”

Taeyong rolled his eyes, “technically that all happened on the same day so…” He trailed off.

Yuta blinked, mouth falling open, “yeah, _one_ day, Taeyong, who knows what else can happen in one day once you leave,” he said finally.

Only through several days of coaxing and guilt tripping – which Taeyong isn’t too proud of, even if it worked out in his favour – did Yuta finally agree, packing Taeyong’s scarce belongings into a small bag, letting Taeyong leave with promises to call everyday – “to make sure the criminal doesn’t murder you,” he put so eloquently – and a tight, borderline painful hug.

And even though coming to stay with Jaehyun is the best for his safety, Taeyong finds himself missing Yuta, missing the routine that he had established with him, a slight pang of homesickness jabbing at his heart when he thinks about his friend. Yuta and Ten are the only sense of home, the only sense of familiarity he has in Seoul and though it’s for the best, it almost seems unfair to be apart from them again.

 _They aren’t the only ones,_ a small part of his brain reminds him and Taeyong smiles inwardly, letting his thoughts wander to Jaehyun as he sets out the ingredients for dinner.

Jaehyun and his lovely, dimpled smile and the gentle, worried crease of his forehead when Taeyong winces in pain. The warmth of his palms, calloused and rough, as they smooth over Taeyong’s bare arm, his touch like electricity, leaving sparks in his wake. The way he speaks, so hard and cold, voice flat over the phone with his associates yet so soft when he turns to Taeyong, murmuring a quiet, _“is something the matter, my love?”_ when he notices Taeyong watching him. His words feel hot inside Taeyong’s throat, overwhelming Taeyong with their genuineness and intensity, as if they might burn him from the inside.

It’s love, he knows. The feeling of warmth trapped inside his chest, threatening to overflow and spill from his rib cage every time Jaehyun tips Taeyong’s chin up with his hand, kissing him tenderly, is love. The feeling of comfort that swells inside him when Jaehyun enters through the door, the hard, tired line of his mouth softening into a smile when he sees Taeyong, is love.

Taeyong snaps out of his thoughts when the door clicks open behind him. He turns, a smile easing it’s way onto his face, though it evaporates when he sees Jaehyun. He drops his spatula on the counter, fumbling to turn the stove off before he rushes forward to Jaehyun. Taeyong’s heart hammers wildly against his chest, hands instinctively rising to cup Jaehyun’s jaw.

“What happened?” He breathes, breath hitching when Jaehyun flinches at Taeyong’s touch. He pulls his thumb back, revealing a blossoming bruise on Jaehyun’s cheekbone.

There is an unreadable look in Jaehyun’s eyes, the curve of his mouth turned downward and hard. He covers Taeyong’s hands with his own, sighing deeply.

“ _CBX_.” He says.

Taeyong’s gaze flickers anxiously over Jaehyun’s features, hands dropping from his face to his chest, fingertips skimming over his shirt where he sees blood pooling near Jaehyun’s torso. Taeyong’s fingers work quickly, untucking Jaehyun’s shirt and unbuttoning several buttons from the bottom to properly check the damage. Only when he realizes that Jaehyun will be okay, and it’s only several superficial cuts, does he relax slightly. Taeyong wants to ask what happened but when he looks back into Jaehyun’s eyes and the tired, worn out look in them, he resists.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He says instead.

Jaehyun follows him to the bathroom, taking off his shirt and hoisting himself onto the sink counter, legs parting slightly to let Taeyong step into the space between them. Taeyong makes quick work of cleaning and bandaging the cuts, carefully applying ointment to the bruising. Jaehyun is quiet, uncharacteristically so, but Taeyong doesn’t miss the way his fists are curled in tightly, his own fingers working carefully to pry them open so he can clean up the scrapes on his knuckles.

A heavy silence fills the air between them.

Taeyong hesitates, “what happened?” He asks.

Jaehyun tilts his head, “ _CBX_ soldiers attacked me outside my club,” he pauses, “they’ve made it clear that they don’t want to kill me as much as they want to kill you.”

Uneasiness crawls beneath Taeyong’s skin at Jaehyun’s words.

Jaehyun laughs, a low, bitter noise, “it’ll hurt me more if you die.” The words are spaced out, slow and punctuated, and his voice is hollow, “they aren’t wrong.”

“They want to take you away from me.” He says.

Taeyong pauses his movements, hands stilling where he’s bandaging Jaehyun’s knuckles. His heartbeat quickens.

“I won’t let them.”

If Taeyong’s hand begins to shake against Jaehyun’s, he’s glad the other man doesn’t say anything. He struggles to wrap his mind around Jaehyun’s words; that his life has become such a gamble, something _tangible_ that can be used against Jaehyun, can be used to hurt him, it becomes too much to consider.

“I won’t let them.” Jaehyun repeats and it’s firmer this time, harder, and his hand pulls out of Taeyong’s, rising to Taeyong’s face, his knuckles brushing gently over Taeyong’s cheekbone.

He can feel his breath hitch at the action, his heart slamming into his stomach. Taeyong lets the roll of gauze tumble from his hand and he tips his head up, lips meeting Jaehyun’s in the middle. It isn’t like their other kisses, _no_ , Taeyong thinks dazedly, there’s nothing soft about this. Jaehyun’s bandaged hand rises to the base of Taeyong’s neck and he pulls Taeyong so close that Taeyong is sure that Jaehyun can feel the rapid beat of his heart against his own chest. Jaehyun’s lips are slightly chapped but warm, and the warm slide of his tongue against the seam of Taeyong’s mouth makes a slow heat begin to pool in Taeyong’s stomach. His hand fumbles, slipping tightly into Jaehyun’s honey coloured hair, Jaehyun’s legs tightening around Taeyong’s hips when Taeyong tugs.

Taeyong tilts his head, a breathy moan escaping from the small space between their mouths when Jaehyun’s teeth close around his lower lip. Teasingly, Jaehyun pulls and Taeyong whimpers, hand curling against Jaehyun’s hip, fingertips digging into the warm skin.

“ _Jaehyun_.” It comes out softly, and Taeyong angles his head back, exposing his throat to a steady assault of lazy bites and kisses.

“What do you want, baby?” Jaehyun murmurs hotly, breaths warming the skin of Taeyong’s jugular as he presses another kiss there.

Before Taeyong can answer, their mouths are connected again, Jaehyun’s tongue curling lazily around Taeyong’s, their lips sliding together slickly. Taeyong squirms, having to tilt his head even more in order to accomodate Jaehyun’s mouth. He’s forceful in his kisses, lips almost bruising Taeyong's, their teeth clashing slightly, and yet, Taeyong doesn’t mind. If anything, it only serves to create a steady thrum in his veins, urging him to press himself closer.

“Want you,” Taeyong says, and it comes out like a whine.

When Jaehyun pulls away a little, his heated gaze flickering over Taeyong’s form, Taeyong licks his lips instinctively, burying his head in the crook of Jaehyun’s neck. Jaehyun smells comforting, of his familiar cologne and the sharp twinge from the alcohol wipes still lingers on his skin. Taeyong inhales shakily.

“Are you sure?” Jaehyun asks, and it’s so gentle that no one would ever suspect that his tongue was halfway down Taeyong’s throat mere moments ago.

He throws his arms around Jaehyun’s neck, “want you so bad.”

And Jaehyun smiles, crooked and _lovely_ , beautiful, his lips slightly swollen and bitten red. Taeyong steps away from the counter, letting Jaehyun slide off, their hands fumbling together as they head to the bedroom. He can’t breathe for a moment and it feels as if there are a thousand bees trapped in his brain that make it impossible for him to think coherently as Jaehyun sits on the edge of the bed, letting Taeyong climb clumsily into his lap.

And just like that, their mouths are connected again in a harsh, bruising slide of lips. Somewhere in between, Jaehyun’s fingertips find the hem of Taeyong’s shirt and Taeyong pulls it off, letting it fall on the floor.

“So beautiful,” Jaehyun breathes, his hands curling around Taeyong’s waist.

“Always so beautiful,” Jaehyun says and it’s raspy as if the words are caught in his throat, “thought you were the most beautiful person I've ever seen the second I laid my eyes on you.”

Taeyong feels his throat dry up and he whines, hips tilting forward to meet Jaehyun’s. He takes his lower lip between his teeth as Jaehyun cants his hips just slightly, and their clothed crotches brush together. Jaehyun’s breaths come irregularly against Taeyong’s collarbone, his teeth scraping at the sensitive skin there. The way Jaehyun is sucking into Taeyong’s skin, frantic and all-consuming, as if he might eat him, Taeyong knows there’s no way it won’t leave a mark. The thought makes his throat constrict. Jaehyun pulls away, gaze darkening when he notices Taeyong chewing erratically on his lower lip, trying to keep his breathy moans in.

“You drive me crazy,” Jaehyun growls, “when you bite your lip like that, Taeyong.” The words are like liquid heat, searing Taeyong’s skin when they make contact with it.

Taeyong tightens his hold around Jaehyun’s neck, a surprised yelp leaving his mouth when Jaehyun stands. He fumbles, wrapping his legs tightly around Jaehyun’s hips as Jaehyun shifts and slowly drops Taeyong back on the bed.

“Does it hurt?” Jaehyun asks carefully, the haze in his tone gone and replaced with concern.

Taeyong’s heels dig into Jaehyun’s lower back and he shakes his head frantically, “don’t stop, Jaehyun,” he pleads.

Jaehyun grins, sharp and wolflike and dives back in, claiming Taeyong’s mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss, his hands steady as he undoes the button on Taeyong’s jeans. Taeyong raises his hips, letting Jaehyun pull them off completely. Only his boxers separate his hard cock from Jaehyun’s clothed one and when Jaehyun’s hips dip, brushing experimentally against Taeyong’s, he whines again. At that, Jaehyun’s smile only grows, his dark eyes trained on Taeyong’s as he grinds down again. Taeyong knows he’s already flushed, his skin a bright pink, but when Jaehyun’s index finger curls around the waistband of his boxers, pulling just slightly, Taeyong feels as if his face is in flames.

He squirms, raising his hips once more to let Jaehyun pull them off, leaving him completely naked. For a moment, there is no noise between them, save for their heavy breathing, as Jaehyun’s hands trail down the expanse of Taeyong’s body, broad palms catching over his nipples as he smoothes them over Taeyong’s ribs and down the sides of his waist.

“So pretty,” he whispers, the heel of his palm pressing just barely putting pressure on the base of Taeyong’s dick.

A choked noise tumbles from his lips at that and he tilts his hips forward in order to get more contact, more of _anything_ that Jaehyun is willing to give him. Taeyong whines when Jaehyun pulls his hand away, though it gets caught in his throat when Jaehyun dips forward, taking one nipple in his mouth, teeth just barely grazing around it, leaving spots of painful pleasure in his wake. His back arches, his nails digging crescents into the expanse of Jaehyun’s shoulder blades, another strangled whimper leaving his lips.

“ _Jaehyun_.”

Taeyong shudders, blinking his eyes shut when Jaehyun switches to the other, continuing to gently bite and suck, leaving the skin around Taeyong's nipples red and indented with teeth marks, his hands rubbing soothingly along Taeyong’s sides.

“I’m here, baby,” Jaehyun’s voice is hoarse, low, when he pulls away and Taeyong fights the urge to cover his exposed body with his arms when he sees how Jaehyun stares, unashamed, his pupils blown dark.

For the first time, Taeyong lets himself marvel at Jaehyun's body. He’s lean, sinewy muscles tightening and flexing under his skin with every movement, broad shouldered with a trim waist, lovely pale skin coloured pink from being flushed. And because he can’t help it, Taeyong counts the scars that mark his skin, some completely healed, some new. Taeyong’s hand rises absently, brushing over the pink, healed scar on Jaehyun’s torso, _from the day we met,_ he remembers faintly, before finding the bullet scars on his arm, fingertips tracing them idly. He steers clear of the fresh bandages, hand resting gently just beneath Jaehyun’s collarbone, over his heart. It beats loudly for Taeyong.

One of Jaehyun’s hands rises to Taeyong’s cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly over Taeyong’s swollen lip. Before he can stop himself, Taeyong’s tongue peeks out and he licks the pad of it.

“Fuck.” Jaehyun growls lowly, pressing his thumb in just slightly when Taeyong parts his lips, letting it rest on the base of Taeyong’s tongue.

Encouraged by Jaehyun’s reaction, Taeyong wraps his lips around his thumb, sucking gently. If it were possible, Jaehyun’s eyes darken even more, strands of dark hair falling into them as he watches Taeyong’s movements. He pulls away after several moments, a low groan escaping his mouth when Taeyong chases after his hand, missing the weight on his tongue.

“You’re…” Taeyong feels himself blush, letting his hand drop from Jaehyun’s chest to his side, fingers crumpling the sheets beneath him, “fuck, you’re hot.”

And Jaehyun laughs, light, yet rough noise though not unkind as he ducks down and kisses a slow path from Taeyong’s chest to his navel, dropping wet, open mouthed kisses at the sensitive skin beneath Taeyong’s belly button until he squirms, hands threading through Jaehyun’s hair.

“Turn around for me,” Jaehyun murmurs.

Anticipation curls heavily in Taeyong’s stomach and he does, getting on his hands and knees, fighting the urge to drop his head into the pillows and hide. There’s movement behind him and the bed dips slightly when Taeyong realizes Jaehyun has gotten up. He cranes his head, turning to see Jaehyun return with a small, clear bottle, pausing only to pull off his creased dress pants and boxers. The bed dips again when Jaehyun crawls back on, surprising Taeyong when he feels sudden, warm breaths against the small of his back.

Jaehyun’s lips make contact with his skin, specifically where his healed scar is, so careful and gentle as he drops several kisses there. The scar doesn’t hurt anymore, doesn’t sting except when Taeyong accidentally pulls it in haste, but when Jaehyun presses his mouth against it, it _burns_ , sharp heat travelling from where they're connected and into his veins. Taeyong shivers, knuckles whitening as he clutches the sheets harder.

“So beautiful,” Jaehyun inhales, dropping one last kiss at the scar, “all mine.”

“All yours,” Taeyong breathes out, letting his head drop to the pillow, shifting his weight from his hands to his elbows.

The first finger feels strange, cool and slick from the lube, and Taeyong forces himself to relax, letting himself get used to the slight stretch. _It really has been too long,_ he thinks. Jaehyun’s free hand smoothes over the small of Taeyong’s back and tailbone, sliding down the curve of his ass and thigh as he slowly moves his finger inside Taeyong. The sensation is odd at first but soon, Taeyong finds himself pushing back on the finger until Jaehyun slowly adds another.

His breath catches in his throat, “Jaehyun, _please_ ,” he bites out, his voice muffled by the pillow. Two fingers stretch him more and Jaehyun moves them slowly, scissoring slightly, opening Taeyong up with ease. Only when he curls them upwards, the tip of his middle finger catching the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside Taeyong, does Taeyong moan, arms shaking as he struggles to keep himself up. His dick is so painfully hard by now, dribbling spurts of precome against the sheets.

“God, you’re tight,” Jaehyun mumbles, and Taeyong feels the warmth and weight of his body drape over his back.

Jaehyun’s motions become sloppy, impatient, as he slowly inserts a third finger. A dizzying heat overwhelms his senses at the feeling of being stretched open, his thighs trembling from the pleasure of Jaehyun’s fingers crooking inside him, drawing whimpers from his bitten lips. His cock jumps against the sheets.

“I can’t, _ah_ , Jaehyun,” Taeyong breathes, “please... fuck me,” and pulls away from Jaehyun’s fingers, clumsily turning himself on his back, “god, fuck me, want you so _bad_.”

His arms find Jaehyun’s neck, wrapping almost tightly around it, hips thrusting weakly into the air. Instantly, Jaehyun’s hand presses down on Taeyong’s hipbone, stilling his movements.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” Jaehyun’s voice is gravelly, broken.

Jaehyun swoops down, taking Taeyong’s mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue sliding between Taeyong’s lips messily, hands prying Taeyong’s thighs apart, hiking one leg over his shoulder. The stretch in his leg burns only for a moment before he feels the tip of Jaehyun’s cock against his hole, pushing in with one swift movement. It’s too much at first, the stretch is painful and Taeyong almost sobs, burying his face in Jaehyun’s sweat slick neck. Jaehyun is still, hands lowering to Taeyong’s hips, and holding him in place.

“You take me so well, my love.” Jaehyun breathes, “so tight for me.”

The praise sings inside Taeyong’s veins and he struggles to take a breath, giving himself several moments to adjust to Jaehyun’s dick inside him.

“Move, please.” He croaks, licking a broad stripe over the column of Jaehyun’s throat.

His brain is mush, unable to form a single coherent thought as Jaehyun slowly begins to move, his hands so tight on Taeyong’s hips that he wonders if he might find bruises there tomorrow. Jaehyun’s thrusts are shallow at first, experimental and slow, letting Taeyong get used to the size. He isn’t exactly small, Taeyong knows, from the brief glance he had at Jaehyun’s cock, thick and long, curved against his stomach and Taeyong’s aches to wrap his lips around it and familiarize himself with the weight of it on his tongue.

 _Another time,_ he tells himself, a short, stuttered moan escaping his lips when Jaehyun’s dick hits his prostate, eyelids fluttering shut. He feels so full, so stretched open, exposed to Jaehyun. With his leg curled over Jaehyun’s shoulder, the angle is deep and with every thrust, the head of Jaehyun’s cock brushes against the sensitive nerves inside him.

“Jaehyun,” he hiccups, “ _harder_.”

Jaehyun’s mouth latches on to the curve of Taeyong’s jaw, sucking harsh marks into the tender skin and his thrusts pick up, more frantic and forceful, jarring Taeyong, his back arching tightly. Jaehyun pulls away just slightly, one hand rising to rest on Taeyong’s throat, his thrusts not faltering.

The pressure of his hand is alarming, and before Taeyong can stop himself, “please,” he whimpers hoarsely, hand covering Jaehyun’s on his throat.

Jaehyun’s thrusts stutter, just slightly and he groans, curling his hand around the base of Taeyong’s throat.

“God, look at you.” He murmurs, his hand tightening just slightly.

Taeyong sobs as Jaehyun slowly increases the pressure around his throat, his thrusts punctuated, sharp. It becomes harder to breathe now, Jaehyun's strong fingers constricting his ability to take in air, and Taeyong feels the hot, dizzying pressure build inside his stomach, his cock twitching harshly where it’s trapped between their bodies.

“ _Harder_ ,” he manages to beg and Jaehyun picks up the pace, his hips moving erratically, his hand tightening even further around Taeyong’s throat.

When Taeyong blinks, white spots dance in his vision. Every nerve in his body feels as if it's been set alight, singing with white, hot pleasure.

It becomes too much for him then, the way Jaehyun’s thrusts punch strangled moans from his throat, the way his hand squeezes the column of Taeyong’s neck. Vaguely, he can feel a steady stream of drool begin to pool at the corner of his open mouth but he doesn’t care, not when the pressure begins to build inside his gut. His veins thrum with blinding pleasure, his nails clawing almost violently at the smooth expanse of Jaehyun’s back.

“Gonna come,” Jaehyun grunts into Taeyong’s shoulder and his hips stutter, his pace quickening.

Taeyong clenches around Jaehyun’s dick, one hand fumbling between their bodies as he takes his cock in his hand, thumb shakily pressing into his slit, tugging hard on his dick, chasing his release. With every thrust, Taeyong jostles in the circle of Jaehyun's arms, his body going limp from the movements. He cries out, and Jaehyun’s hand tightens just barely around his throat, his dick pressing almost painfully on Taeyong’s prostate.

"Jaehyun, _ah,_ fuck." It's high pitched and loud, Taeyong's hand moving clumsily against his dick.

He comes like that, mouth falling open in a ragged, wet sob, hand slick as come spurts between them.

Jaehyun’s thrusts become faster, more forceful, and he grunts against Taeyong’s skin, his hand sliding off of Taeyong’s throat and to his hips, pulling Taeyong down on his dick. It’s too much for Taeyong, his spent cock twitching painfully against his thigh at Jaehyun’s thrusts, but he’s too exhausted to do anything, his eyes closing, his jaw slack. He lets his hands wander into Jaehyun’s hair, pulling at the strands until Jaehyun stills, breaths ragged against Taeyong's neck, hot ropes of come filling Taeyong’s body.

Taeyong strokes Jaehyun’s hair through it, a small groan leaving his mouth when Jaehyun collapses on him for a moment before he falls to Taeyong’s side, pulling him close. They’re sweaty and come is slowly beginning to dry on their stomachs, but Taeyong can’t find it in himself to care as they turn to face each other. Jaehyun’s hand slides down, enveloping Taeyong’s clean hand in it.

"Did it hurt?" Jaehyun asks and Taeyong shakes his head.

He ducks his head, shifting his gaze away from Jaehyun's. Now that the initial adrenaline has worn off, Taeyong feels embarrassed trying to tell Jaehyun he gets off on being choked.

"I like it," Taeyong hesitates, "it was, uh, it was good for me."

Jaehyun smiles a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "me, too."

“I have to change those,” Taeyong says shyly when he realizes he came all over Jaehyun’s bandages.

He laughs a little, clearing his throat when he sees how deeply Jaehyun is staring at him. As if he is looking to see if he can gaze inside Taeyong.

“I love you.” Jaehyun says quietly, _abruptly_ , with a tip of his head to the side.

A silence fills the space between them and this time, Taeyong’s heartbeat picks up for entirely different reasons. There is no flicker of emotion on Jaehyun’s face that might betray what he's feeling inside. But it’s sincere, that much Taeyong can gather despite the post sex haze that clouds his mind. Jaehyun’s gaze is unwavering, yet it holds no expectations.

“You don’t have to say it back –”

“I love you, too,” Taeyong blurts, a little too quickly and loudly, but Jaehyun smiles nonetheless, a gentle twitch of his mouth upwards.

The sight – Jaehyun’s kind, tired eyes flickering over his face, honey coloured strands falling into them, his easy smile and sweat slicked skin, the rise and fall of his chest – makes Taeyong’s heart catch in his throat. He struggles to breathe.

Jaehyun stands wordlessly, returning with a damp towel. He cleans the come off of both of them, and though it’s not enough, Taeyong is too tired to take a shower to fully clean himself. His eyes begin to flutter shut as Jaehyun’s arms wrap around him, boneless as Jaehyun shifts them to the clean side of the bed, arm wrapping loosely around Taeyong’s waist, his breaths slow and even against the back of Taeyong’s neck.

“I love you,” he murmurs again and his voice is bare, _sweet_.

Taeyong sighs, burying himself back against Jaehyun’s warm, naked body, and lets sleep overcome him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yallz..... wild.


	15. chapter fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can’t believe it’s over omg my first ever full length piece of writing! i just wanna say thank you for all the love and support on this fic and the encouragement you all gave me thru your comments and overall just being so wonderful as the story progressed 💖 
> 
> it was truly so much fun to write and im so glad everyone enjoyed it and i hope u will continue to support me in my other writing. don’t worry this isn’t the end for mafia boss jaehyun and taeyong! a shorter sequel is planned so stay tuned for that :)

His hold around the grip of his gun doesn’t loosen, even as Yixing eyes it nervously.

“How many times should I tell you, Jung,” Yixing tilts his head, his hands still buried deep in the pockets of his dark wool coat, “I don’t have anything to do with Baekhyun’s obsession with your _toy._ ”

“You should be careful, Zhang,” Jaehyun doesn’t lower his gun, “words that bold shouldn’t be spoken around a man as impatient as me.” He says breezily.

“You’d kill me over this?”

Jaehyun shrugs, “I might.”

“You’re fucking unhinged.” Yixing’s voice quivers just slightly, his eyes darting to where Jaemin has a gun pinned to the side of Yixing’s bodyguard’s head.

He’s trapped and the knowledge of that is evident on Yixing’s face. Jaehyun cocks his head to the side, unable to shift his gaze away from Yixing’s face. His previous cool, calm demeanour has evaporated, and his facial expression is that of a panicked animal, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Maybe” he shrugs again, “even if _you_ didn’t do anything yet, I know you’ll jump on the next opportunity to hurt Taeyong.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around him, Jung, I have no reason to go after him,” Yixing replies carefully, “besides, Baekhyun knows about the hit.”

He steps forward, “he’ll kill both of you.”

“He can try.” Jaehyun says simply.

Jaehyun turns to Jaemin and nods once. He turns back to face Yixing, who flinches slightly when Jaemin’s gun goes off. There’s a dull thump behind him but Jaehyun doesn’t turn to look. Instead, he smiles sharply at Yixing.

Yixing’s mouth twists into a surprised grimace and he jerks back, taking one step back. His foot dips into a small puddle of rain water that’s collected in the pothole behind him and a strand of jet black hair falls into his narrow, frantic eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

And normally, he wouldn’t. Killing others for trivial matters has never been Jaehyun’s interest. He sees no point in lifting a gun to someone’s head unless it has anything to do with Johnny’s safety. And now, Taeyong’s. Normally, Jaehyun wouldn’t spare Yixing anymore hard threats, let alone track him and his bodyguard down, but this time it’s about Taeyong. About his safety. And Jaehyun is determined never to risk that again.

So Jaehyun pulls the trigger.

He turns away before he can see the body drop, the only evidence of his act being the heavy, dull thump of Yixing hitting the ground.

“Take care of this, will you?” Jaehyun grimaces, head jerking in the direction of the other body by Jaemin’s feet.

He turns to Jaemin as he flicks the safety of his gun on and then he glances up at the grey sky. It’s going to rain soon, he realizes.

Jaemin nods shortly, “yes, boss,” he replies.

—

 _“Baekhyun, huh?”_ Johnny whistles lowly, and the sound crackles over the phone speaker. Jaehyun grimaces, pulling his phone away from his ear a little.

“There’s about a week left until Jongdae and Minseok return from America,” Jaehyun replies, “there’s a window to make sure the job gets done.”

 _“A window? Jaehyun, it’s going to take longer than that to get to him.”_ Johnny doesn’t bother to hide the surprise in his voice, _“he’s protected at all times.”_

Jaehyun pauses outside his apartment, letting one of the soldiers posted outside open it for him. He steps in.

“Jaemin’s running point on this for me,” he toes off his shoes, balancing his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can reach behind for his gun, pulling it out and placing it carefully on the side table beside the couch, “and besides, if I don’t get this done before the others return, then I’ll never get the opportunity again.”

Johnny coughs, clearing his throat, _“even if you manage to take him out, the others will come for you.”_

Jaehyun is silent for a moment.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Jaehyun sits down on the couch, one hand rising to smooth over the creases of his forehead, a steady, dull pounding beginning to form at the base of his skull. He sighs deeply. It’s a calculated move he’s making, targeting Baekhyun himself, one that might look careless to anyone else. But it’s been several weeks since he instructed Jaemin to put out the hit and it’s been an empty contract since, no one quite brave enough to go after _the_ Byun Baekhyun of _CBX._

_“I trust you, hyung, I’m with you.”_

There’s a light rustling behind him and Jaehyun turns to see Taeyong emerge from the hallway, dressed in pale green scrubs, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He smiles when he sees Jaehyun.

“Thanks, Johnny, I’ll get in touch if I hear anything,” Jaehyun says, “I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

He hangs up and gestures for Taeyong to come closer. He does, his smile widening as he leans down, one hand fitting around Jaehyun’s tie. Strands of silver streaked hair fall into his gleaming, narrow eyes. He tugs lightly and Jaehyun lets himself be pulled forward, mouth curving into a smile as their lips crash together.

They pull away easily and when they do, Taeyong flops down beside Jaehyun, pulling out his phone to check the time.

“Take me to work?” Taeyong asks with a pout.

Jaehyun laughs, dipping down once more to kiss the corner of Taeyong’s mouth.

“Of course, my love.” He replies.

Taeyong tilts his head with a sigh, “it’s good to finally go back,” he admits, “I really need to get back into some sort of routine.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, “are you sure you can’t take one more week off?” He asks teasingly.

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “oh, I’m sure you’d like that.”

“I would.” Jaehyun shrugs, but his words are sincere.

Taeyong softens, though he doesn’t say anything else. And Jaehyun knows that despite every instinct inside his brain that screams at him to not let Taeyong leave the safety and sanctuary on the apartment, that this is what is best for Taeyong. That he deserves to live the life he wants, deserves to be able to step out without fearing for his life, without Jaehyun’s anchor of violence weighing him down.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says as he stands, one hand outstretched. Immediately, Taeyong slots his fingers in between Jaehyun’s, hoisting himself up.

—

A week passes.

Taeyong slips into his routine smoothly, almost as if it were never interrupted, returning home in the mornings delighted and exhausted. Something unbelievably warm and liquid swells inside Jaehyun’s chest watching Taeyong adjust to balancing their relationship and work. Pure love and adoration, the type to make his heart thump wildly and leave his fingertips tingling, coats the back on Jaehyun’s tongue, sweet. They’ve settled into something not quite perfect, though it might as well be. Jaehyun’s work keeps him busy but he’s home when Taeyong leaves for the hospital, and when he’s off from work, their days are spent wrapped around each other. An air of domesticity surrounds their space – one Jaehyun isn’t sure he quite deserves – despite the heavily armed soldiers outside and the several guns hidden carefully around the apartment.

The love that’s settled into the crevices of his heart should be unfamiliar, should feel uncomfortable to a man like him. But it doesn’t. If anything, it only serves to make the wisps of sheer protectiveness he feels for Taeyong curl tighter in his gut. He’d hurt others for Taeyong, break bones in a heartbeat if anyone dared to cause Taeyong any pain, and he’d easily _kill_ for Taeyong — he already has, after all.

A week passes and Jaehyun knows that though Jaemin had gotten rid of the bodies well, he hadn’t made them disappear. Someone should have found them by now, assuming Yixing’s disappearance didn’t go unnoticed, which Jaehyun had made sure someone would. And yet, no one has confronted him about it.

It’s an uneasy feeling, waiting for someone to confront you about your crimes, and Jaehyun’s not sure how long he can wait in such anticipation.

Three more days pass before his phone rings sometime around midnight.

 _“The boss wants to meet.”_ Doyoung says the second Jaehyun picks up.

He doesn’t reply for a moment. Doyoung’s tone is tight, nervous.

“When?”

 _“Tonight,”_ Doyoung replies, _“he’s at _Flora._ ”_

Jaehyun hangs up with a deep sigh. He stands, fixing his gun into the waistband of his pants, covering it with the hem of his blazer.

The night is damp and humid when he steps out.

Taeil is a busy man, Jaehyun knows. Despite being in his inner circle, despite being his _Capo,_ Jaehyun’s path doesn’t cross with Taeil’s often. Not that it matters much to him; the less he has to involve himself with Taeil, the better. Which is why it’s slightly jarring to see Taeil in the back room of his club, idly conversing with Doyoung, his glass of whiskey untouched on the table in front of him.

“Taeil.” He greets with a tip of his chin.

Taeil looks up with a mild smile and carefully neutral eyes.

“Jaehyun,” he replies as Doyoung stands, slipping through the door.

Jaehyun takes a seat at the table. It’s a large, round, brown oak table with carved edges. It doesn’t have much use since meetings are rarely held at Jaehyun’s clubs and the wood is still shiny, pristine save for a few scratches.

“How have you been? Busy, hopefully?” Taeil asks.

Jaehyun keeps his tone even, “busy as usual,” his eyes trace over the intricate details carved into the perimeter of the table, “business is good.”

“Tell me, then,” Taeil’s voice is soft, quiet yet hard and something alike to frustration spills into his words, “why I already have _CBX’s_ dogs on me about those godforsaken diamonds and now there are rumours floating around that my most trusted _Capo_ murdered Zhang Yixing over something as trivial as a lover?”

Jaehyun doesn’t let his gaze waver. He won’t back down, not now.

“Those aren’t rumours, Taeil.”

Taeil tilts his head, running a hand through his short, cropped black hair. His silver moon earrings glint in the light.

Something not quite like a smile breaks across his face, unfinished and tight, “you’ve created a problem, Jaehyun, by killing Byun Baekhyun’s lover.”

Jaehyun stills for a moment. This, he realizes with a sense of dread seeping into his chest, is new information.

“Yixing had no problem ratting out any of those lowlifes at _CBX_ but refused to ever give us any information about Baekhyun, and you’re surprised to hear that they were involved?”

Taeil laughs dryly.

Several more moments of silence pass between them. Jaehyun’s mind races.

He keeps his face blank, but Taeil’s gaze is unnerving, unwavering. As if he can see right into the turmoil inside Jaehyun’s mind.

“You went after Baekhyun’s lover in an attempt to save your own,” Taeil pauses, voicing Jaehyun’s thoughts in a soft, cool tone, “and now his is dead while yours lives,” he smiles a little, a bare twitch of his lips which Jaehyun can describe only as cruel, “who do you think he’ll come for next?”

His heart slams into the pit of his stomach, an uneasy, uncomfortable sense of alarm and anxiety filling the empty cavern of his ribcage. He killed Yixing to try to spare Taeyong from danger but instead, he invited the danger to him.

His gaze flickers back to Taeil, who looks almost bored now, having gotten the intended reaction from Jaehyun. Jaehyun smiles, tight and polite, and stands.

“I’ll see you soon, Taeil,” he says, instinctively smoothing away the nonexistent creases on his suit jacket.

Taeil hums, his attention already occupied by his phone and drink, not bothering to glance up as Jaehyun ducks out of the room.

His first thought is one of panic, his mind racing as he tries to remember where Taeyong is.

 _Work,_ he remembers faintly, _Taeyong is at the hospital._

Jaehyun resists the urge to go and get Taeyong from the hospital and take him back home but he knows it isn’t a good idea. Taeyong’s life has finally begun to take some semblance of normalcy, despite the big, looming shadow of Jaehyun and his business haunting him, and he can’t ruin that for him over his own paranoia.

Another part of him knows that it isn’t paranoia and that all Baekhyun has to do is glance once in Taeyong’s direction and his soldiers will kill him without a second thought.

Still, as Jaehyun ducks into the back of the car, mumbling for his driver to take him back home, he figures he can wait until Taeyong comes home to try and find a solution for this. He calls Jaemin on his way home, commanding his underboss to personally take care of protecting the hospital until Taeyong leaves.

The next few hours pass in a hazy, troubled blur. Taeil’s words bounce around his mind, echoing dimly and ominously. Jaehyun knocks back several glasses of scotch as he waits for Taeyong to come home.

_You went after Baekhyun’s lover in an attempt to save your own, and now his is dead while yours lives… Who do you think he’ll come for next?_

He racks his brain, his thoughts whirling like a hurricane.

 _What’s done,_ he thinks warily, _is done._ Yixing is dead and he can’t change that, no matter what. All he can do is try and protect Taeyong from Baekhyun’s wrath. Taeyong, who he loves unconditionally, who he’s so sure might be a part of his soul, his very presence a warm bloom of light and love inside Jaehyun’s heart. Taeyong, who by some miracle on Earth, loves him _back._

Taeyong’s shift ends at six am and around half past six, the door clicks open and Taeyong appears, toeing off his shoes, eyebrow raised when he sees Jaehyun still awake. Normally, since Taeyong works until the early hours of the morning, Jaehyun is asleep when he comes home, too exhausted from the events of his own day to stay up and so the surprise is evident on Taeyong’s face.

“Hey,” he says softly, one hand brushing away the dark bangs that fall into his eyes, dropping his backpack by the door, “is everything okay?”

Relief floods Jaehyun’s chest in waves; Taeyong looks tired from work but otherwise unharmed.

When Jaehyun doesn’t reply, Taeyong approaches him, carefully sitting down on the couch where Jaehyun is nursing a half empty glass.

“Your friend,” Taeyong says with a nervous laugh, “Jaemin, he said was his name, said you sent him to pick me up?”

Jaehyun nods, reaching forward to take one of Taeyong’s hands from where they’re situated in his lap. He intertwines their fingers, squeezing a touch too tight.

Taeyong raises his free hand, the cool pads of his fingertips tracing gently under Jaehyun’s eyes, “you look tired, Jaehyun.”

Concern washes over his face, his forehead creasing when he leans in to press a kiss to Jaehyun’s cheek.

When he pulls away, he sighs deeply, “how much have you had to drink?” He asks.

Jaehyun can’t find it in himself to reply, letting Taeyong pluck the glass from his hand.

“That’s not good for your body, Jaehyun.” He murmurs, putting the glass down before he cups Jaehyun’s face, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth.

The action is tender, gentle and Taeyong’s hands are a soothing, cool comfort on his face. Jaehyun melts into the kiss, exhaling slowly as they pull away.

“I did something.” He says, leaning forward to let his head fall into the crook of Taeyong’s neck.

Taeyong shifts closer, one hand carding absently through the hair at the nape of Jaehyun’s neck. He smells faintly of strawberry shampoo and of the sterile, rubbing alcohol smell distinct to hospitals.

“What happened?” Taeyong asks carefully.

“Yixing.” He says, his voice muffled by Taeyong’s scrub shirt.

“I remember him,” Taeyong tilts his head and Jaehyun pulls out of his embrace, intertwining their hands once more, “the man in Johnny’s apartment, right?”

Jaehyun nods.

“I killed him.”

Silence fills the space between them.

“You killed him?” Taeyong repeats softly, “why?”

“He might’ve tried hurt you,” Jaehyun replies, picking up his glass off the table in front of them, knocking back the rest.

It burns impossibly hot down his throat.

“I couldn’t take that chance.”

Taeyong’s mouth is pressed into a small frown.

“But Baekhyun and him,” the words are clumsy on his tongue, “I didn’t – I didn’t know that,” his thoughts are unfinished, trapped in his throat, “that they were – that they were in love.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I knew.” He finishes, “I wouldn’t have.”

Taeyong’s gaze is unreadable, his hand limp in Jaehyun’s. His brow is furrowed, as if he’s struggling to understand, struggling to piece together Jaehyun’s words. Seconds pass as Taeyong tries to make sense of it all. Finally, he seems to catch on, seems to understand what Jaehyun is trying to say.

“Baekhyun wants to kill me,” he chews on his bottom lip harshly, “because I’m,” he pauses, “I’m the one you love and you killed the one he loves.”

“You are the one I love,” Jaehyun says seriously, reaching forward to brush his knuckles against Taeyong’s cheekbone, “and I won’t let him touch you, I swear.”

Taeyong opens his mouth, as if to speak, though he stills immediately, hand tightening in Jaehyun’s.

“Did you hear that?” He whispers.

Immediately, Jaehyun stands, snatching his gun off of the table, flicking the safety off. He pauses, carefully listening and sure enough, there’s a low, muffled thud behind the door.

Silence, and then the sharp crack of wood splintering.

Taeyong is standing now, and Jaehyun can feel his warmth against his back. He shifts in front of Taeyong completely, covering his body from the door, his gun gripped tightly.

Two soldiers that Jaehyun knows aren’t his push through the door. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the dark haired man, lean and thin, carefully step in. His face is neutral, mouth flat, eyes flickering over Jaehyun before he glances behind him to Taeyong.

Baekhyun.

“Jaehyun,” he says softly, and then leans to the right just slightly, as if trying to catch another look at Taeyong, “and the famous Lee Taeyong.”

“You’re hard men to catch.” Baekhyun takes several more steps forward and three more soldiers enter behind him.

Jaehyun’s eyes scan the room; six people with six guns and only one of him, only one gun. They’re dangerously outnumbered.

He turns back to the man in front of him.

“You can’t have him,” Jaehyun says sharply, “I won’t let you kill him.”

“Kill him?” Baekhyun laughs but it’s dry and bitter, “you gifted him to me, Jung, when you decided to shoot a bullet through Yixing’s heart.”

Jaehyun’s heart threatens to beat out of his ribcage. He holds his breath.

“I want him,” Baekhyun murmurs, and jerks his chin in Taeyong’s direction.

Behind him, Taeyong’s grip on Jaehyun’s arm tightens impossibly.

“Jaehyun,” he breathes, breathing erratic and warm against Jaehyun’s shoulder.

Jaehyun’s throat constricts but he doesn’t waver.

“You’ll have to kill me first.” He replies, his face blank, even if it feels like his insides are melting.

Baekhyun tilts his head slightly and smiles, a crooked, bare twitch of his mouth. Jaehyun can sense the sheer grief and utter anger behind it.

His voice is soft, almost gentle, a perfect match to his own round features and small frame, “I look forward to that.”


End file.
